


Listen to the Colors

by starsandauras



Series: The World's a Beast of a Burden [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arcanima, Carbuncles as Service Animals, Discussion of mental illness, Emotional neglect, Gen, Hereward makes his yearly appearance, If you're looking for the Urianger shipping it's chapter 21, Illness, Knitting, Multi, Multiple Warriors of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Parental Death, Pregnancy, Sex, Streamer AU, Strongly implied Sanson/Guydelot but not enough to qualify it for the tag, Wedding Planning, Will's Accent, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandauras/pseuds/starsandauras
Summary: And so we're here again, FFXIVWrite 2020! Featuring the fantastically dysfunctional (but trying!) family that is the O'Donnells, their beloveds, and the NPCs they picked up along the way. Also crack-tacular AUs and more grounded AUs. Tags are in flux and will be updated with each fill, which will be updated (fingers crossed) daily through October. There will be Shadowbringers spoilers and they will be marked.Table of contents will have specific pairings/polycules, content, and spoiler warnings per chapter.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light, Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters, Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters, Warrior of Light/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light/Warrior of Light/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: The World's a Beast of a Burden [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1233692
Comments: 62
Kudos: 11





	1. Table of Contents

**1\. Table of Contents**  
(You are here!)

**2\. Uncles and Nephews**  
Gen. Spoilers for 4.55. Brigid's son is worried about his mum, and Aymeric keeps him company.

**3\. Break Me Neatly, Numb Me Sweetly**  
Gen. Content warning for emotional neglect edging into emotional abuse, parental death, and parental abandonment. Brigid really does look like her mother, to Hereward's joy and then despair.

**4\. Starting to Show**  
Gen, but with faint references to Bri/Thancred. Content warning: Early pregnancy. Brigid's baby bump appears, and she has mixed emotions about it.

**5\. Cast a Line**  
Pre-Araki/Arthur/Matsu. First meeting with the other Ryuzaki twin.

**6\. Cradle**  
Gen. When a craftsman must forgo extravagance due to time constraints, but he insists on some decoration.

**7\. Blanket**  
Gen. A cradle needs a blanket to go in it.

**8\. Speech Patterns**  
Gen, but could be read as pre-Bri/Urianger. The baby is learning to talk, and is very confused.

**9\. One Iceday Mass**  
AU. Bri/Iolaire. The Warriors of Light put in an appearance at Mass, for a very special reason.

**10\. Product Placement**  
AU. Modern streamer AU. Bri/Thancred. Brigid shows the stream her hair care essentials... but one is missing.

**11\. Growth**  
Gen. Content warning: Non-graphic treatment of a burn. Llewellyn loves his sister, but he does wish she'd seek advice more often.

**12\. Free Advice is Worth What it Costs**  
Gen. Emmanellain tries to give Connor advice. It goes as you'd expect.

**13\. Fervor**  
AU. Bri/Iolaire. It's sex. There's really nothing else to sum up. Explicit sex (obviously).

**14\. Bless Her Heart**  
Gen, references to Bri/Thancred, Thancred/Urianger, Bri/Thancred/Urianger, Araki/Arthur/Matsu. Bless Eidith and her thirst.

**15\. Invitation**  
AU. Gen, with references to Bri/Iolaire. Arthur comes to visit Ishgard for a chat.

**16\. Illness**  
Bri/Thancred, references to Bri/Thancred/Urianger(/Hilda) (AKA: Polycule of Doom). **Assumes completion of 5.0**. Content Warning: Mild illness. Brigid is sick, Thancred and Ryne care for her.

**17\. Choosing Focus**  
Araki/Arthur/Matsu. Arthur's still working on that medical assistive carbuncle and can't choose a stone to base it off of.

**18\. It's Showtime, Girls**  
AU. Modern streamer AU. Gen with light reference to pre-Bri/Thancred. Mild crossover with Final Fantasy X. What Brigid _actually_ talks about when she streams.

**19\. Discord Call**  
AU. Modern streamer AU. Gen with discussion of Bri/Thancred. Content warning: Discussion of depression. Haurchefant gives Brigid advice.

**20\. Sunny Morning**  
Llewellyn/Sammy. An early morning snuggle.

**21\. The Blooming Heather**  
First half: Bri/Thancred/Urianger, **assumes completion of 5.0**. Second half: AU. Bri/Iolaire. Brigid, flowers, and the men who love her, across two universes.

**22\. Alleged Faults**  
Gen. Arthur has a talk with our dear Wandering Minstrel. **Assumes completion of 5.0**.

**23\. Bickering is a Love Language**  
Araki/Arthur/Matsu. Content Warning: Lovers arguing, affectionate though it is. Arthur and Araki bicker. Matsu reluctantly referees.

**24\. Anniversary Night**  
AU. Bri/Iolaire. Iolaire has been acting... shifty.

**25\. Too Quiet.**  
Bri/Thancred. There's a toddler, and it's quiet.

**26\. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes**  
Bri/Thancred, currently one sided and in denial Thancred/Urianger. Thancred is alone on the First, but he has dreams.

**27\. It's Bread. It's Gonna Forgive You.**  
Gen. Brigid and Alisaie make bread together.

**28\. Once Upon a Dream**  
Bri/Thancred. Brigid sings and dances.

**29\. Healer's Dilemma**  
Gen, with light reference to Llewellyn/Sammy. Llewellyn is a healer, forced to fight.

**30\. Crawling**  
Mostly gen kidfic, with Bri/Thancred scattered throughout. The Thancreds spend an afternoon together.

**31: The Lancer Walked into the Carpenters' Guild...**  
Gen with strongly implied Sanson/Guydelot. Araki receives a commission.


	2. Uncles and Nephews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: Crux

The hallways of the chirurgeon’s wing seemed quieter the past few evenings, Aymeric thought to himself as he walked. They were often quiet of course; it was a place of healing after all. Perhaps, he thought as he turned a corner, it was due to the unnatural silence of the wing’s current occupant.

As he passed by a certain doorway he found it ajar. Confused, he stopped long enough to peer inside.

His eyes fell upon the bed that held Brigid, silent and still, same as she had been since Estinien had brought her to Aymeric that day at the Ghimlyt, and her toddler son. He had a book in one hand and the other was trying to pull himself up onto the bed, standing on his tiptoes. Aymeric laughed softly and strode inside, making his footsteps loud enough to draw the toddler’s attention. When he turned Aymeric smiled fondly, kneeling as he came alongside him. “Hello, little scholar,” he greeted the toddler fondly. “Would you like up with your mother?”

The boy nodded, green eyes large and pleading. “Up!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, tail swaying gently behind him.

Aymeric laughed again and nodded. “Of course, Master Thancred William,” he replied fondly, ruffling the boy’s hair before gently taking hold of him under his arms and depositing him on the bed. “Everything must be difficult, for someone so small,” he murmured, knowing he would be ignored, his words more than the child could comprehend, and thus regarded as unimportant.

Thancred William quickly crawled next to his mother, curled up, and settled his head on her chest, holding the book tight. “Mama sleep,” he murmured quietly, and Aymeric settled into a nearby chair, knowing that until one of the boy’s other uncles or aunts came to find him, he was tasked with looking after him. Well, it was no hardship; the child was very well behaved and Aymeric was very fond of him besides.

He nodded, glancing over Brigid for a moment. She was pale, shadows under blood red lashes and hair dull. He sighed inwardly before turning to Thancred William. “She is, yes,” he replied quietly, as though he was afraid of waking her.

Thancred William nodded, as grave as a nearly three year old could muster. “Na loch Da?” he asked, and Halone help them if the boy picked up on his Uncle Li Li’s speech patterns.

Aymeric shook his head, smiling gently. “No,” he answered, his tone one of a person who has had to explain something several times over but not upset to have to answer again. “Remember what your uncle Estinien said? She was awake as he brought her to me.” Thancred William nodded again, a thumb finding its way to the child’s mouth. Aymeric knew Brigid would quietly pull the hand away, but just this once he couldn’t find it in him to deny Thancred William that small comfort.

Thancred William seemed to digest this, and Aymeric waited patiently, knowing that the child sometimes took after Llewellyn, taking his time with his words. “An’ na loch Auntie ‘Saie?” he asked, eyes full of hope. “Loch me when I sleep?”

Aymeric nodded, smiling softly as Thancred William smiled around his thumb. “That’s right. And she’ll awaken soon, I promise.” He hoped he could keep that promise as soon as he made it, but it was worth it to see that small child relax from his tight curl, squirming slightly.

Thancred William then thrust out the book he’d been holding, all the coordination that a growing toddler possessed (which was to say: not much at all), looking firmly at Aymeric. “Story?” he asked, thumb still in his mouth.

Aymeric smiled softly and took the book from him. “Well well, Reynard the Fox,” he read off the cover, and ruffled the boy’s hair again. “Fine taste, Master Thancred William,” he praised, and Thancred William squirmed again, pleased.

As Aymeric opened the book Thancred William reached out to put a tiny, dark scaled hand on the back of Aymeric’s. “Do voices,” he ordered, and had it not come out in such a serious way Aymeric would have laughed outright at the image the toddler made.

“Of course, my lord,” he intoned instead, bowing his head in acquiescence. He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, settling in for story time. “Some folks say,” he started in a Serious Narrator tone, “Reynard the Fox is a rascal. They will tell you he is sly, and up to all sorts of tricks. He prowls around at night, smelling the air with his long nose, and listening with his long ears; and when he has done prowling, you may be pretty sure he is not as hungry as he was when he set out.”

Aymeric read a few of the stories of Reynard the Fox that were contained in the book, drifting off only as he saw Thancred William start to fall asleep. He smiled and set the book to the side, standing so that he could tuck the child under the covers with his mother. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind the toddler’s horn.

“T’ank you Uncle ‘Meric,” came a tiny, sleepy voice, and Aymeric felt his heart melt into a puddle where he stood.

“You’re welcome, little nephew,” he replied, and thanked Halone that even in times such as these, there was a child such as him.


	3. Break Me Neatly, Numb Me Sweetly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all per the tags Hereward/Papa O'Donnell is making his appearance. This means the usual pre-ARR warnings are in play: Emotional neglect verging into emotional abuse, alcohol abuse, parent death (Brigitte/Mama O'Donnell), and parental abandonment (Hereward). If this is something you need to avoid, please do.
> 
> If you choose to read this, I highly recommend listening to ["Sway"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_33GvgisIRk) by Vanessa Carlton as you do, as it highly informs the piece.

_My heart, your hands, gentle my friend_

Hereward O’Donnell laughed as Brigitte O’Donnell gently bounced their toddler daughter in her arms, making a bright bell of laughter fall from the child. Not for the first time did he marvel over how similar the two looked: Blood red hair shot through with flame, skin pale and freckled. They both even smiled the same way, a crook to the left corner. The only difference was their eyes. Brigitte’s were a lighter shade of green, that of new leaves just after the spring thaw, while Brigid’s were darker, the leaves of summer.

And both his wife and his daughter were beautiful, Hereward would always believe this in his heart.

“Nay e’er gang tae git used tae how much she looks loch ye,” Hereward murmured fondly, leaning in to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek. Brigitte laughed and Brigid looked up at them both with big green eyes.

“Like a wee mammet,” she agreed, bouncing Brigid again and kissing the top of her head. “Like the adventurers have following them around.” She laughed again and set Brigid down next to her brother on a nearby blanket. “Even though she can’t quite walk yet,” she added fondly, slipping her arm into Hereward’s, the two of them walking back into the house, just for a quick moment.

_Precious ladies, love you, love me_

She was nine, all gangly limbs and screeching joy. Brigid was every ilm her mother’s daughter, hair starting to form the same waves Brigitte possessed. She also refused to wear _shoes_ , much like her mother. And, come to think of it, like young Arthur, the child who looked for all the world like a mammet of his father. Just like his father, save for the green eyes of his mother.

She ran around the room, chasing after both Llewellyn and William, eyes twinkling brightly as she shouted at them, come back here! Connor watched them as he sat next to Arthur, still unable to walk but happy enough to crawl at wild chocobo speed if the mood took him.

Hereward chuckled and sat next to his wife, who was looking _very_ tired today. “Whaur ye a wee hellion tae?” he asked, nuzzling her temple before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Brigitte laughed, only slightly drowned out by the pleased cries coming from the now pile of their three oldest children. They had somehow crashed into each other and were in a haphazard pile, Brigid having come out on top and wrestling with William, heedless of both their still healing scars. “Oh worse,” she assured him. “I’d chased down wild chocobo by her age.”

Hereward smiled, settling down next to Brigitte and tugging her to his side, snuggling her close. “Give ‘er a year,” he teased fondly. “She’ll be chasing doon th’ stags in Gridania tae ride at ‘er rate.”

Brigitte smiled softly, watching Llewellyn rise from the pile on all fours, and Brigid clambering onto his back. Llewellyn grinned and started crawling at a quick but still reasonable pace, Brigid laughing delightedly. “Aye,” she agreed. “She’ll take on the world.”

_Hold my head up to the lies that you feed me and  
I'll fall under the spell you cast as you let me down_

Brigid was thirteen and sobbing into his side. Brigitte was dead. Dead and gone and in the ground six moons gone now and Hereward was left with five children who had no idea how to cope. Hells, _he_ didn’t know how to cope.

He reached for the bottle in front of him. He hadn’t bothered to go back to their room since she’d… taken sick. The couch was fine. It had enough room for him and a blanket. The table in front was enough for his drink. That was all he needed anymore. He took a long pull from it, draining it and setting it down heavily.

Brigid looked up at him, and he thanked the Twelve that she hadn’t gotten Brigitte’s eyes. She’d gotten _enough_ as it was. “‘M sorry Da,” she murmured, curling against him. He stank of drink, he knew, but he cared as much as Brigid seemed to. “Ah’ll help, promise. Mum said tae.”

_Say you'd try and hold me tight  
And you just give me away_

And Hereward sighed, drunkenly reaching out to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “Ye look sae much loch yer mother,” he slurred, cupping her face in his hand. Brigid sniffled and looked down. Hereward looked away.

_Make me high on lullabies_  
_A melody for me to sway_  
_Say you would, say you could_

That was the last time Hereward O’Donnell looked at his daughter.

_And you don't do **anything**_


	4. Starting to Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 3: Muster

She had felt it first. Everything felt fuller, heavier. Even her fingers felt swollen at the joints. But it wasn’t until, one day in Ishgard as she got ready for bed, that she paused in front of the mirror and _saw_ it.

Just the slightest rounding to her originally flat stomach. It wasn’t much, barely there, but it was _there_. If her robe had been made of a thicker material Brigid might not have seen it, but the thinly woven wool was enough to highlight and not conceal. A shaking hand reached out, fingertips lightly brushing at the bump’s reflection in the mirror, eyes wide.

There it was. Proof that she was with child. Proof enough to the rest of the world, at least; Brigid had been feeling it for nearly a moon, had the positive test results for a fortnight. Those she could hide, however. Keep from the realm and show only to those she trusted. _This_ , however… this she could still hide from others, for a time, with bulky enough clothes, but _this_ she could never hide from herself, could never ignore it.

She tore her eyes from the mirror and looked down at herself. She could still see her feet of course, but she could see the subtle roundness that would soon eclipse them. It was even more obvious than it likely would have been for any other woman, given that her previously flat stomach was almost concave. She gently brushed a hand over the bump, her free hand coming to her mouth to muffle a sob as she found the bump firm and unyielding, much different from just a bit of weight.

This should have been _happy_! This should have been a joyous occasion worthy of a party! And some part of her mind was indeed purring smugly at the shape her body was taking on, that she was starting that family she had longed for as a little girl. But the overriding part of her mind could only think of the practicals, that they were in hiding, that her position was precarious, that the realm still needed saving!

That the man she had cared so much for was missing, or most likely, dead and gone, a shallow grave if he was lucky. That she didn’t know the identity of the father of this wonderful, precious child she carried under her heart. That the only thing she knew was it _wasn’t_ who she wished so hard it could have been.

Brigid dropped heavily onto the edge of her bed, the hand over her mouth moving to cover her eyes, hiding her tears from an empty room as she grit her teeth to muffle her sobs. Her other hand remained on her belly, as though it could shield her child from the cruel realties of the realm.


	5. Cast a Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 4: Clinch

It was the grumble and annoyed shout that came from a nearby Raen that drew Arthur’s attention first. He had been so engrossed in his fishing that he hadn’t noticed the man sitting down and casting his own line. He blinked quickly, trying to reorient himself in reality and not the near-dissociation fishing tended to put him in.

The second thing that drew his attention was that the Raen was _absolutely identical_ to Matsu, the man he’d met in the Mealvaan’s Gate library just a few moons ago. But the voice was all wrong to be Matsu, it was slightly deeper and a little more gravely. Did he have a brother he hadn’t gotten around to mentioning yet? He certainly hadn’t brought up his own siblings yet so he couldn’t blame Matsu if he did.

The third thing, and probably what had annoyed the Raen so much, he noticed was the lack of a hook on the end of the fishing line. He tilted his head, trying to figure out if the line had straight up snapped on the man or if something else had happened.

“You don’t need to stare,” came a gruff voice, and Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin with a sharp yelp at the suddenness of it. He looked up and accidentally met the other man’s eyes, but before he looked away he registered that said eyes were blue with lighter blue limbal rings. _Absolutely not Matsu_ , he thought to himself. Matsu’s were dark purple with lighter purple rings. “Ooor… nearly have a heart attack,” he continued, blinking in surprise. “You alright dude?”

_What is a dude?_

“I’m… I’m fine,” Arthur managed to get out, cheeks growing hot as he turned his head away. “ _You_ didn’t need to speak so suddenly.”

He shrugged, going back to glaring at his line. “Whatever you say, man.” He huffed, rather like a displeased chocobo. “Better to stare than to laugh anyway,” he added, almost to himself.

He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t ask. It wasn’t his business. If the man wanted his help he would ask.

“Did it break?”

_Arthur Valmond Wesley O’Donnell, you are an idiot._

The other man brought the line close to his eyes, squinting at it. “No,” he muttered, and as Arthur looked closer he saw there was no fraying that would indicate breakage. “I think the knot came undone.”

Arthur blinked in confusion. “How could it come undone?” he asked, and instantly regretted it.

“If I _knew_ , it wouldn’t have happened,” he grumbled.

_In for a gil…_

“I could help, if you want,” Arthur offered, then remembered suddenly how hard it had been to get Matsu’s name. “I’m Arthur,” he added, but didn’t extend his hand.

If the other man was bothered by it, he didn’t show it. “Araki,” he was told, and was greeted by a smile that could only be described as dazzling. “And if you can, that would be awesome.”

_Oh._

Arthur scooted closer, but not so close as to crowd either of them. “Show me what you do,” he asked, and watched Araki’s hands as he tied a hook to the line. They were long and dexterous, and they looked callused in very intriguing ways. He was suddenly snapped back to reality as he realized the knot that was taking shape under the other’s fingers. “Is that an improved fisherman’s knot?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah?” Araki asked, confusion clear in his voice. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Despite the name,” Arthur started, a note of irritation entering his voice, “the improved fisherman’s knot is not actually better than a regular one. Especially when it’s tied as loosely as you tie yours! No wonder you lost your hook!”

“Well if you know so much why don’t _you_ do it?” Araki blustered, thrusting the line at him with one hand, and an abortive movement of his other indicated that he had intended to thrust the hook at him too but had thought better of it in the end.

And that was how Arthur O’Donnell met Araki Ryuzaki, the other leg of what would become his trio: bickering over fishing knots and grumbling at the lack of fish once the hook was suitably affixed.

Matsu would later find it _hilarious_.


	6. Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 5: Matter of Fact

It wasn’t much, Araki thought as he ran the planner over the edge of the wood, but it would do.

He would rather have made it beautiful, carved stories into the head and foot boards, made the rockers in the shape of animals that would protect the coming child, but that was done when there was _time_ for such things, when a child was being planned for over several moons or even years. Simple and unadorned was the order of the day when said child had an uncertain deadline in an uncertain time and an uncertain realm.

His coming nephew or niece deserved the very best cradle he could make, but they would have to settle for the basics. A strong oak, rubbed down with linseed oil to bring out the grain, sanded down so smooth that Brigid could place silk blankets inside and would have no need to fear snagging, much less splinters.

Araki could dream of carvings of his heart-sister’s battles and triumphs, of symbols meant to protect young lives, even the flowers she loved so much, but there wasn’t _time_ , and he certainly wasn’t going to allow any of the Ishgardian carpenters to get near it. Twelve only knew what sort of mess they’d make of it, what kind of invocations to Halone, and Halone only, they’d put upon it, ignoring that the child’s mother was born under Nald’Thal, and that the child themself had good odds to share the same deity, if Brigid’s calculations were correct. No, better to have it made by his own hands.

He, after all, would love this child far more than any other carpenter being paid to make yet another furnishing for some random patron would. Even if that patron was one of the Warriors of Light herself.

Araki sat back, looking at his work. It was still in pieces, most of them done but the headboard still not quite how he wanted it. But he could see it in his head, how it would look finished, and even if it would be simple he knew Brigid would love it. Simple, unadorned.

Okay, _no_. No that would not do.

Araki grabbed a bit of scrap wood and some charcoal, and started outlining the symbol of Nald’Thal. On another he sketched Nophica’s. He couldn’t give either of them the grand carvings of grand battles and grand stories he wanted, but by the Twelve and the kami both he would _at least_ invoke the protection of Brigid’s deity and the Matron. Such small carvings couldn’t cause problems with the rockers, and he could create his grand designs on the head and foot boards later.

A rose soon joined them, placed in the center, with small vines connecting the three of them. Simple, to respect the time constraint. Adorned, because he could at least give them that.


	7. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 6: Craft (Free/Extra Credit Day)

There was something very soothing about the clack of knitting needles, Brigid thought, as the bright red wool slid over her fingers. It was the start of a blanket, about three fulms wide, and sat easily on Brigid’s lap. Or what remained, she thought to herself, her belly having grown since she’d first caught sight of the bump in her mirror naught but a moon before.

She couldn’t give this baby a father, not yet, but by the Twelve she could give them a blanket, made by her own hand just as her own mother had done for all five of them. …Never mind that she and William had needed to share theirs until Mum had time to make one for him on his own.

The gentle click-clack sound kept a steady tempo, and the pattern was simple enough on this part to be done without much attention from her, and so her mind drifted, alighting on snatches of music that either she had heard from someone else or she had composed herself, bits of stories that had been buried in her mind since childhood that she had forgotten until now, or nothing at all. That was easiest, sometimes, the steady hum that was the background noise of her own mind. She didn’t need to think then, and there was relief in that.

The wool itself was warm, spun by her hand to a thick worsted weight, and dyed on her orders. Sadly that was not done by her own hands as well, Llewellyn refusing to let her be near the dye-pots this early in her pregnancy. It was a shame, as she enjoyed the process for red the best, getting dye all over her hands and being stained for sennights. It looked as though her hands were covered in blood, and she enjoyed the shocked expressions of those around her when they saw them.

Brigid leaned back in her chair, the click-clack sound continuing. She was tempted to sleep, the new and ever-present fatigue being made worse by the monotonous sound of her own work. She _was_ doing quite a lot of work, Araki had reminded her, growing a whole new person all on her own like she was. Anything in addition to that would make her quite tired, the logic followed.

She glanced over at her bed, the warm adult-sized blankets, soft mattress, and inviting mound of pillows all but seducing her. The click-clack slowed, then ceased. They were snowed in for the foreseeable future, after all, she should take all the rest that she could. The blanket could wait, the yarn thick enough to make the knitting go swiftly. She set it aside, assured that the needles couldn’t fall out, and relocated to the bed.

She sighed in relaxation as she melted into the down mattress, her body releasing tension she didn’t know she’d been carrying. Her back twinged and she pulled over the largest pillow to rest against. William would have been the better choice, but he was… somewhere. She couldn’t quite put her finger on where, far too tired suddenly and her brain being in a fog most days anymore.

As she drifted off her eyes lighted on the blanket, the bright blob bringing an equally bright smile to her face. Soon she’d have a little one wrapped up safe and tight inside. Even with the uncertainty of the realm, she found she couldn’t wait.


	8. Speech Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 7: Nonagenarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fisí = Seer  
> grá amháin = Loved one  
> Also I am accepting advice on Urianger's use of Early Modern English.

“Why are you always talkin’ like an old man, Fisí?” Brigid asked, settling down in a nearby chair, young Thancred William in her lap. Said young child, barely a year old, stared at Urianger with large eyes, making a curious sound and reaching out with chubby hands for the goggles he wore.

Behind them Urianger blinked slowly. “Why doth thou speak as thou do?” he asked in response, biting back a smile as Brigid pouted and huffed at him.

“‘Least I’m makin’ a point of workin’ ‘round it to be makin’ meself easier to be understandin’,” she grumbled. Then she smirked at Urianger, which should have been a warning. “Or wuld ye loch me tae talk loch me darlin’ twin brither?”

Thancred William looked up at his mother, eyes gone even wider, and he tapped his mother’s mouth. “Li Li?” he asked, confused.

Brigid’s lips twitched as though she was holding back a smile and took Thancred William’s hand. “Nay, grá amháin,” she murmured. She stroked Thancred William’s hair and looked back at Urianger. “So? Why are you doin’ it? Why are you talkin’ like you’re bein’ older than Papalymo? And dinnae be givin’ me the ‘I was readin’ it in a book’ thing, you’re knowin’ now folk arenae talkin’ like that.”

Urianger smiled softly, lowering his head a fraction. “Whilst I do indeed know this, I fear it has become quite ingrained, to speak thus.” Thancred William reached out to him, closing and opening his hands, and Urianger easily took the child, settling him in his lap. Thancred William squirmed some, trying to turn around but Urianger held him tight. “Though some cannot comprehend my words, I take great pains to speak plainly.”

“If by plainly you’re meanin’ for someone bein’ from several eras ‘go,” Brigid huffed. “Thancred William cannae be understandin’ a word you’re sayin’.”

“My young lord has expressed such? I had not realized his command of language was yet so advanced.” He grinned subtly as Brigid lightly smacked his shoulder, herself unable to suppress a smile.

“He cannae be sayin’ your _name_ yet,” she prodded lightly. “He’s havin’ better luck with Alphinaud.”

“Uncle A’fino!” cheered Thancred William.

“I’m knowin’ how folks are talkin’ is bein’ a sensitive subject,” she started, a bit hesitant. “Flattenin’ out me own accent so folk are takin’ me seriously and all, but can you be tryin’ to be a wee bit clearer?” Brigid asked, reaching over to run her hand down Thancred William’s back. “‘Least ‘round him? He likes talkin’ to folks, I’m thinkin’ ‘tis how he’s learnin’ to talk to be startin’ with.”

Urianger looked down at Thancred William, considering. Suddenly the child squirmed around just enough to turn, reach up, and pull at his goggles, giggling brightly as he managed to pull them off and knock Urianger’s hood down as well. The almost toddler laughed brightly, swinging his spoils around, held tight in his hand. Urianger looked up at Brigid, who was hiding a laugh behind a hand, but he could easily see her eyes twinkling in mirth.

“I shall try,” he promised, smiling as well.


	9. One Iceday Mass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 8: Clamor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring the return of [Bix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bix/pseuds/Bix)'s Iolaire Argentum. Set in the For the Dancing and the Dreaming AU.

The ringing of the bells called Ishgard to Iceday Mass, and as had always been the case everyone in the city from the High Houses to those of the Brume made the procession to Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral and all those who could find a seat did.

Many seats were reserved for the nobility, each and every one of them dressed in their Iceday best, and not just against the cold. A murmur was going through the crowd of nobility, all eyes on the set of pews reserved for the Orraux house. A minor house, comparatively, if not a small house in terms of family members. For several years two seats had always been empty… until _that_ Iceday.

Long lost son of Ishgard turned Warrior of Light Iolaire Argentum, in an Alpine coat with silver embroidery and high thigh boots, strode down the center aisle of the cathedral, back straight and head held high, as befitted one of the Knights Dragoon. On his arm was the other Warrior of Light, Brigid O’Donnell. Formerly of Limsa Lominsa, though none would suspect such from her bearing, just as straight backed and confident as her partner. But then she spoke and the rushing wave of words left little doubt as to her pirate origins. They stopped at their row, and Iolaire paused to allow Brigid to go first, the ladies nodding in approval and fathers showing their sons the proper way to treat their eventual ladies.

Some of the younger ladies gossiped about Brigid’s garb, a fine wool and chinchilla fur coat, under which she wore a deep blue wool dress that skimmed the top of beaten but shined leather boots. It was a finer thing than most of Ishgard had seen the Warrior of Light wear, but it was _Mass_ , so of course she would have found something appropriate to wear. Older ladies murmured disapprovingly at how she seemed to have neglected to cover her hair, the rolling mass of blood colored waves arranged artfully _loose_ about her shoulders.

To think of the murmurs that would have been made if the disapproving old biddies could see them holding hands as they sat, Iolaire’s thumb gently stroking the back of Brigid’s gloved hand, fingers tangled together.

The sermon was long, droning, featuring several hymns and homilies. As the Warriors of Light hadn’t been to Mass since arriving in Ishgard (none held it against them, except the most hard-nosed of the priesthood), it was looked on approvingly that they didn’t seem to fidget or yawn during the proceedings. A good sign, should the lady especially wish to make her home in the city.

“And now,” intoned the priest, near the end of the service, “the reading of the Banns.” Several couples were read and no objections were raised. For many it was simply a matter of tradition, most high born marriages arranged well ahead of time and suitability confirmed through courtship and tracing of family trees.

Soon the priest paused, though barely long enough to note. “I publish the banns of marriage between Lord Iolaire Elant Ádhamn Caoimhín Orraux Argentum, of House Orraux of Ishgard, and Mistress Brigid Océane Aine O’Donnell, of Limsa Lominsa, Warriors of Light. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”

A gasp went up amongst the crowd, nearly all eyes turning on the pair in surprise, jealousy, or envy. Those of House Fortemps only grinned amongst themselves (Or in the case of Haurchefant, who had made the journey to the city specifically for this reading, cheering outright) and those of House Orraux smiled widely. The pair in question, however, only had eyes for each other, their smiles the brightest of all.

Unaware or uncaring of the din around them, Iolaire raised Brigid’s hand and kissed the knuckles, making his ladylove laugh and blush brightly. Brigid leaned against him, propriety clearly thrown out the window as Iolaire laughed as well and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer against him.

(And somewhere in the back, Estinien Wyrmblood muttered a “Swiving _finally_ ,” under his breath.)


	10. Product Placement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 9: Lush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by the Modern Streamer AU I've had in my head for over a year now and a Lush purchase made the night before this prompt went live.
> 
> Identities of various usernames will be in the end notes.

“I cannae believe I’m doin’ this,” Brigid grumbled, pulling over a box in front of her recording equipment. “I’m bein’ a _costume_ streamer…” She looked up, pasting a bright smile on her face, and switched the camera on, sending out the “live” alert to her followers, and started adjusting things.

Five minutes passed as she saw the chat populate, and she flipped from the “Starting Soon!” screen to the live feed. “Hello me wee buttons!” she cheered, waving. “Today’s bein’ a special, though wee bit short stream, I’m hopin’ you’re nay minding.” She pushed the box into clearer view. “Folk have been askin’ ‘bout me hair, so me community manager’s tellin’ me.”

**RedRacer:** I don’t know why either.

Brigid laughed, seeing the message come up on screen. “‘Tis alreet lass. So today, we’re doin’ a review of me favorite hair products.” She held the box up, the _Lush_ logo clearly visible. “Nay sponsored, all products are bein’ bought with me own coin, nay affiliate links, I’m just bein’ right fond of the products,” she rattled off, mentally rolling her eyes at the need to do the disclaimer. “So, let’s be startin’ with a product sadly bein’ discontinued.” She pulled out a well known black tub, holding it up so the label was clearly visible. “Curly Wurly. As you can be tellin’ from the name, ‘tis for curly hair, and…” She held up a lock of hair between two fingers, showing the almost-curl to the waves. “As you can be seein’, ‘tis good for me hair. ‘Tis also bein’ fine for straight hair. And they’re discontinuin’ it! I’m hopin’ they’re lookin’ into makin’ it a solid ‘cause ‘tis bein’ so very good! From the website…”

Brigid pulled the website up and to her viewers it appeared behind her, thanks to her green screen. “‘Tis usin’ coconut oil and mashed avocado butter, so if you’re bein’ sensitive to those, be ‘voidin’ it. Nay sulfate-free either, but then, nay any Lush shampoos are bein’ good for you if you’re needin’ sulfate-free.” She sighed and looked at the tub in her hand almost longingly before placing it to the side. “Thankfully I can be gettin’ ‘way with only usin’ it once a week. The rest of the time I’m usin’ Seanik…”

Brigid continued, laughing as the chat added commentary, thanking new and returning subscribers, and outing RedRacer and ThisIsScience for both being fans of Angel Hair, much to ThisIsScience’s keysmashing and KittyKitty34’s teasing.

“And now finally, one of me favorite shampoos…” Brigid paused, digging through the box, packing peanuts tipping over the side. “Ah…” She frowned, tilting her head.

**HoarFrost:** Everything alright, dear?

Brigid glanced up in time to see the message and waved a hand. “Nay, ‘tis alreet darlin’.” She looked over her shoulder, calling out. “Darlin’, have you been seein’ me shampoo?”

**TehHer0:** Honey, where’s my supersuit?!  
 **CodesWithTea:** Not now.  
 **PineSugar:** Why do you need to know?!  
 **CodesWithTea:** Oh Twelve it’s the both of you.

A voice came from down the hall. “Which one?”

Brigid sighed and put a hand up, shaking her head. “Just a moment, me dears. Red lass, if you could be managin’ things for me? And Hero, Pine, darlin’s? Dinnae make Tea’s head ‘plode please.” Upon receiving confirmation from RedRacer and disappointed messages from TehHer0, she stood and left stream for a moment.

**HextSisters:** Chair stream!

Brigid grumbled to herself as she left microphone range. “Nay, I was wantin’ to pattern out some traditional Ul’dahn pants today but nay, everyone was wantin’ to be knowin’ ‘tis makin’ me hair shiny!” She turned the corner on the room next door, strode up next to the occupant, and put her hands on her hips. “Where’s me bottle of Fairly Traded Honey at?”

Thancred turned, and as he did a very familiar scent wafted over to her. He held his guitar in his hands, as though he expected to need it as a barrier between the two of them. “Was… was that bottle for the review?” he asked, apologetic smile on his face. The sort of apologetic smile a child caught with their hand in the biscuit tin would wear.

Brigid sighed and grabbed his arm. “You’re comin’ with me then,” she grumbled, and he easily went, not wanting to upset her during a stream. As they both reentered frame, the chat erupted.

**ZoomHeadlines:** Hey it’s ScoringRogue!  
 **TailoredFlight:** ScoringRogue!  
 **ThisIsScience:** Oh dear.  
 **RedRacer:** In trouble again, Thancred?  
 **ThisIsScience:** I shall start the damage control.

Thancred waved at the camera, his smile now a fully bright “on stage” smile. “Hello everyone! I’m a special guest for this stream, you can find me live later tonight—”

“—When he’s nay goin’ to be smellin’ like honey, rose absolute, and geranium oil,” Brigid broke in. “Aye, the lad was usin’ me review bottle. But as you can be seein’, ‘tis a godssend for hair in terrible need of moisture.”

“Hey!”

“‘Tween the fifty percent honey and the twenty percent linseed mucilage there’s bein’ a great deal of hydration, and ‘tis bein’ self-preservin’ as well. You can be seein’ how shiny Thancred’s hair’s bein’, and ‘tis bein’ very soft.” She ran her hand through his hair, and Thancred hummed in pleasure.

**TehHer0:** LEWD  
 **CodesWithTea:** Belt up.  
 **TehHer0:** Come over here and make me.

“ _And with that_ ,” Brigid sighed, seeing the direction her chat was going and RedRacer’s desperate attempts to keep things from going too far up the ratings scale, “‘Tis it for today. Thank you for joinin’ and puttin’ up with this less than usual stream. Hope to be seein’ you all Windsday, where I’ll be ‘xaminin’ an early Sixth Astral Era traditional Sharlayan weddin’ gown, and be seein’ if I can be gettin’ a workin’ pattern out of it. And nay, he’s nay proposed,” she added at the end, poking Thancred’s side. He laughed and batted fondly at her hand.

**HextSisters:** Skin care next!  
 **RedRacer:** NO

“Be doin’ somethin’ you’re lovin’ today, even if ‘tis a wee thing. Be seein’ you all soon. Red sweetie, can you be settin’ up a raid for me?”

**RedRacer:** DragoonsBane is on.

Brigid grinned, thinking of the reclusive Ishgardian Martial Arts streamer. “Perfect,” she purred. “Be suggestin’ Coconut Rice Cake to him, BirchSyurp’s been complainin’.”

And somewhere in a gym in Ishgard, a certain former dragoon paused in his warmups. “…GildedRose is up to something isn’t she.”

His companion sipped from a cup of tea, watching the raiders descend upon the chat. “I did warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RedRacer: Alisaie  
> ThisIsScience: Alphinaud  
> CodesWithTea: Arthur  
> PineSugar: Matsu  
> TehHer0: Araki  
> BirchSyrup: Aymeric  
> DragoonsBane: Estinien  
> KittyKitty34: Y'shtola  
> HextSisters: Yda and Lyse  
> HoarFrost: Haurchefant
> 
> ZoomHeadlines and TailoredFlight are just names to fill out the chat, they're not anyone.


	11. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10: Avail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Non-graphic treatment of a burn.

Brigid hissed in a breath as Llewellyn gently wrapped gauze around her burned arm. It wasn’t a terrible burn, but it was enough that on a regular patient he would take extra steps on it. That it was his _baby sister_ that was his patient, well. It never hurt to be prudent, did it?

He turned to fetch the clip that would keep it from unraveling until it was time to check it once again, and he heard her huff behind him. He smiled to himself as he turned back, securing it. “And how did you come by this injury, little flame?” he asked, smiling gently as she sighed.

“Workin’ out what the guild’s callin’ Fire Two,” she muttered. “Wasnae workin’ right so I was goin’ out and tryin’ to figure out ‘twas goin’ wrong.”

“And you didn’t think to ask Guildmaster Coco..?”

“Cocobani. And nay, he’d just be tellin’ me to go read _Thaumaturgy: The Yawnin’ Abyss_ ‘gain.” Brigid spread the fingers of her uninjured hand out wide and shook them a little. “As though I can be makin’ me way through somethin’ so dense ‘gain. ‘Twas bein’ hard ‘nough the first time,” she grumbled, and Llewellyn nodded. Book learning didn’t come easy to his sister, though of course she had basic literacy down like the rest of them. She didn’t have the focus for anything particularly academic, preferring to put her hands on things. He just wished she didn’t have a habit of wanting to do that with her thaumaturgy training.

“Still, he is there to teach you…”

“Then be teachin’ me in a way I’m understandin’!” Brigid finally snapped, flinging her good arm out to the side. “Guildmasters Cocobygo and Cocoboha both were teachin’ me hands on! Even Cocobezi was tryin’ to teach me somethin’ of value, even if I was already learnin’ it in me brothel days!” She covered her face with her hand, sighing. “I’m wantin’ to control this on me own terms, even if ‘tis meanin’ me staff’s ‘plodin’ in me face.”

“I would rather your staff not explode at all,” Llewellyn lightly chided, stroking Brigid’s hair gently. “Now, what will you do when you return to Ul’dah next?”

“…Ask Papalymo for help?”

“Brigid.”

She flinched, as Llewellyn rarely ever called her by her first name, and then she sighed. “Ask Guildmaster Cocobani if he can be helpin’ me with Fire Two,” she replied, voice flat in resignation.

“And?”

“And if he can be doin’ it without makin’ anythin’ blow up.”

Llewellyn smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “That’s my little flame. Now go change, Sammy’s about to have dinner on.”

“Angler stew?” she asked hopefully.

Llewellyn laughed. “With cheese risotto and blood currant tart for dessert,” he told her, and smiled brightly at the equally as bright smile that appeared on her face.

“Yay!”


	12. Free Advice is Worth What it Costs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13: Ultracrepidarian (a person who expresses opinions on matters outside the scope of their knowledge or expertise)

“I say, old boy!”

Connor flinched as he went to strike the dummy in front of him, cursing under his breath as he missed due to an entirely _different_ dummy. He sighed and turned a glare on his intruder. “I’m younger than you, Emmanellain.”

If that comment made it past whatever took up the majority of Emmanellain’s skull to make it to his brain, he didn’t show it. Connor glanced around, and grimaced. No Honoroit. That was never a good sign. Emmanellain waved a hand dismissively, and Connor made a pointed effort to not rise to the perceived bait. Odds were there was no bait at all. “Come now, as though that matters! Can we not speak as equals, despite my years lending me more wisdom?”

Sometimes… Connor understood why Brigid refused to be alone with Emmanellain after that trip to the Sea of Clouds. _Babysitter_ seemed too mild a phrase for what Emmanellain truly needed.

The youngest Fortemps son looked Connor up and down, as though he was actually _judging_ Connor’s gear. In the back of his mind he heard a whisper of fury, of _how dare he_ , and he pushed it back. It was not the time. Finally Emmanellain sighed and shook his head. “Well, we must work with what we have I suppose. Come, come, I’ll help.”

“Help with _what_?” Connor spat, the glare (and that whisper of fury) sharpening. He tightened his grip on his sword but didn’t move, watching, waiting.

Emmanellain huffed and shook his head. “I know, I know, hard to believe that one of the great Warriors of Light could ever need advice from a lowly mortal, but as they say, never look a gift chocobo in the beak!”

_What._

Emmanellain strode by as though he had no idea just how off balance Connor was (and likely didn’t, as the holder of Emmanellain’s wits was still nowhere to be found) and took a place next to him. “First, your stance. Right foot in front, old boy!”

_Left foot in front, you idiot,_ came that whisper of fury, and Connor continued to ignore it, just as he continued to ignore Emmanellain. His words washed over him, Connor remaining in his _correct_ stance as Emmanellain mimed some _very_ incorrect battle poses, ones that would be certain to get him killed if he tried any of them on an actual battlefield. Only interested in looking flashy, this one.

Finally he heard the _blessed_ voice that would save him from this near-hellish experience. “My lord!”

“Ah, Honoroit! A timely arrival, I was just about to show the old boy here some _advanced_ techniques!”

Connor tried very hard not to roll his eyes.

Apparently Honoroit saw the effort Connor went to and smiled weakly, almost in apology. “Of course, my lord, but you’re going to be late for your appointment with Lord Bonfaurt—”

Emmanellain smacked his forehead with a hand over-dramatically (and Connor fancied he could hear something _rattle_ in there) and shook his head. “Of _course_!” He bowed with equal dramatics to the youngest of the Warriors of Light, with a smile on his face that would have been smarmy were it not so _earnest_. “I do so hate to teach and run, but duty calls, as I’m _sure_ you understand!” And with not so much as a by-your-leave, he strode off, just as confidently as he’d strode up.

Connor sighed and shook his head, before turning a genuine smile on Honoroit. “Not many can say they’ve saved the Warrior of Light, you know,” he teased the teenager, and was given a stronger smile in return.

“My lord’s advice might be… quite terrible, but his heart, I have found, is occasionally in the correct place.” With that, Honoroit bowed, a much more sedate one than his lord’s, and darted off after said lord, likely to save some other poor soul from… well, Emmanellain’s _everything_.

And Connor returned to his practice, two handed sword firm in his grip.


	13. Fervor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12: Tooth and Nail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've hit the sex, folks. Rating has changed.

He pounded into her, hard, and fast, and forcing the breath from her lungs. She clung to him, nails raking down his back, head falling back into the pillow under her, hair puddling under her. Distantly she was glad they were in a bed, as he felt as though he would pound her into the floor, leaving a crater behind if the soft barrier was not in the way.

Their voices echoed off the walls, gasps and moans and whimpers and groans their own music as the orchestrion reached the end of the roll. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist, using them as an anchor as she rolled her hips to meet his thrusts.

She could feel his breath at her neck, and she mewled, tilting it back further for him, teeth grazing at the pulse fluttering under the skin. His hands reached up to grasp her legs and rearrange her so that they were hooked over his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his hair, tugging sharply at the strands, and he groaned in response, thrusts becoming even harder somehow.

Suddenly he bit down on that butterfly beat of her pulse, and she screamed wordlessly, flung over the edge and clenching around him, body milking him for everything he could give her. And still he didn’t stop, taking her through her orgasm, extending it and turning any stray thought in her mind into fuzz. She was nearly on the edge again when he finally came as well, groaning deep in his chest into her neck, sending vibrations through her own body. She whined weakly as she came with him, eyes fluttering shut and her body going limp as he filled her, the warmth spreading through her body.

They laid there for a long moment, panting as they came down from the high together, then they curled against each other, laughing softly as they ran reverent fingers along each other’s bodies, touch light and easy. Slowly her legs lowered, and he rubbed them soothingly, massaging away any strain. They nuzzled each other, noses rubbing together as they smiled happily. He leaned in to kiss her, soft and gentle in the afterglow.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her as she giggled and she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “My perfect, beautiful wife,” Iolaire whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

Brigid grinned shyly, fingers brushing lightly over the marks she’d scratched into him, glad that she hadn’t broken the skin from the feel of it. “Me perfect, most handsome husband,” she all but purred in return, leaning into him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	14. Bless Her Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13: Thirst (Free/Extra Credit Day)

“So, that girl who follows Thancred like a lost duckling.”

Arthur looked up from counting out the coin for his payment, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?” he prompted when Eidith didn’t continue.

“That his daughter? Didn’t think he was old enough to have a child her age.” Arthur stared at her (or rather, just over her shoulder) for a long minute, waiting for anything _relevant_ to be added to the conversation. “Not that I mind what age he is. He can have as many daughters as he likes, so long as he looks like _that_. ‘Twas just curious,” she soon added, a bit too quickly.

He sighed and handed over the gil. “Adopted daughter. He also has an adopted son, if that changes matters.”

She took it and placed it in a nearby lock box. “Single parent?” she asked, smiling softly. “I’d be more than happy to help if he needed it. Growing girl needs a woman’s influence after all.”

Arthur sighed. He was stuck in this conversation, wasn’t he? “No, in fact. The adopted son is my nephew. He’s…” he sighed again, still not used to the idea yet. “He’s all but my brother in law. And even if he wasn’t, he also has Urianger as a co-parent for Ryne.”

Eidith was silent for a moment and Arthur thought himself free of the conversation. “A trio?” she finally asked just as Arthur was about to step away. “Like you and yours?”

He resisted the urge to bring up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why was _he_ the one stuck having this conversation again? “More or less,” he answered, because at this point he had no idea what Brigid and Urianger’s relationship was anymore. He _thought_ they were the sort of friends who have a mutual romantic partner but lately… Twelve he wasn’t sure and didn’t want to know.

“So you’re saying there’s still a chance!”

“Sure,” he sighed, resigned to the madness he found himself in. He almost missed Shida. “Yeah, you still have a chance with him. If you can get past my sister at least.”

Eidith smiled. “He has two hands,” she said brightly.

_Yeah,_ Arthur thought as he finally said a not completely awkward goodbye, _and they’re both occupied._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless this woman and her thirst. And her exquisite taste.


	15. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 14: Part

__

_Lord and Lady Elant Bertennant Diarmuid Lonán Orraux Argentum_  
_request the honour of your presence  
_ _at the marriage of  
_ _Miss Brigid Océane Aine O’Donnell  
_ _to  
_ _their son  
_ _Lord Iolaire Elant Ádhamn Caoimhín Orraux Argentum  
_ _Waterday, the tenth sun of the First Umbral Moon  
_ _Seventh Astral Era Two  
_ _at six bells  
_ _Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral  
_ _The Holy See of Ishgard_

__

* * *

Arthur put the invitation down on the table and blinked at Brigid. “ _Not_ the Sanctum of the Twelve?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mum and Da dinnae marry in the Sanctum,” Brigid pointed out as she set a cup of tea next to Arthur’s hand. “Nay like I’m needin’ to be upholdin’ some grand tradition on our ends.”

He took the cup and started spooning sugar into it. “Brigid, I’m not convinced Mum and Da were married in the first place.” A couple of spoonfuls later he took a drink, nodding to himself.

She waved and sat down at the table with her own cup of tea, along with a lemon tart. “Nay like ‘tis matterin’ anyway,” she murmured, adding spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her tea. “‘Sides, ‘tis matterin’ to his family, and nay any great hardship for me. ‘Tis the location matterin’, so long as I’m marryin’ him?”

Arthur hummed, sipping his tea again. He picked the invitation back up, eyes sliding over it as he read it one more time. “They’re fancy,” he commented, and Brigid sighed.

“Even poor Tataru’s worryin’ she willnae be able to be makin’ a fancy ‘nough weddin’ dress,” she admitted, leaning back in her chair. “Even for a second wife.”

“Knowing Miss Tataru she’ll likely make something the likes of which they’ve never seen,” he reassured her. “And if they hold it against you for being his second wife they can all go to rot.”

Brigid laughed and patted the table next to Arthur’s hand fondly. “You’re a good wee brother,” she praised, smiling lightly. “Bein’ better than Liam right now, certainly.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. They’re both dragoons, they can go kill a dragon as a bonding exercise or something. Take Estinien along so that they don’t come to blows against each other.”

She laughed again and finally served the lemon tart. “Aye, I’ll have to be suggestin’ it. Or be sendin’ them to the Behemoth’s Den for a day or so. Thank you darlin’.”

“Of course.” He sipped his tea again, still studying the invitation. “Do you mind if I give one of these to Professor Synnove?”

“Nay, the more the merrier!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iolaire is from the lovely and wonderful and much beloved [Bix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bix/pseuds/Bix) and Synnove is from the also lovely and wonderful and much beloved [DT Maxwell.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draya/pseuds/DT%20Maxwell)


	16. Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 15: Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Assumes completion of 5.0.** Content Warning: Mild illness.

The moment Brigid woke she knew Something Was Wrong.

The great hacking cough that shook the bed was only confirmation, and she groaned, rolling over and curling up, already resigning herself to, at best, a day of muscle spasms and a throbbing head. At worst? She’d likely be laid out for a full sennight, if not a whole fortnight.

She coughed again, from the bottom of her lungs all the way up, and it made her dizzy for a moment. She breathed slowly, whining softly into the pillow as she felt the muscles in her back start up. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to doze through most of it, be left alone for the day. The star had been saved, there was no _immediate_ need for the Warriors of… whatever they were anymore, and even if there was, they could surely do without her for a bit.

“Spitfire?” came the quiet question from her other side, and she froze still for a split second. That was exactly what she _didn’t_ want to happen, waking him up. She felt a hand settle softly on her back, and it was that exact moment her head decided to join them, a sharp lance of throbbing pain going through her.

“Hells…” she groaned, curling up tighter. Thancred’s hand started rubbing hesitant circles around her back, and she whined again. She almost never swore, not like that. “Blast” was often the worst word to come out of her mouth, and only twice had she spoken such in front of anyone.

“Do you want me to fetch Llewellyn or Will?” he asked quietly, waiting for her to finish her new round of coughing before pressing a soft kiss to her bare shoulder. She shook her head, not able to get words out yet. “You’re certain? I can call Chessamile if you’d rather; I’m certain she’d make a house call.”

Brigid swallowed and nodded. “Liam was teachin’ you to be tendin’ me back, aye?” she asked, wincing as her head continued to pound. Thancred hummed and she could hear the sheets shift as he nodded. “Then I’m fine,” she grumbled, and tried to relax back into the bed.

Her head continued to throb and she could feel her back spasm, and often she had a coughing fit, but she did manage to doze some. At one point she woke to find the room darkened, the shutters closed and any gaps sealed so that when she cracked an eye open, it was pleasantly dim, easing the pain in her head. It was also mostly quiet, the only sounds Thancred’s soft breathing as he remained in bed beside her, and the faint strains of the orchestrion playing something light and airy on a harp that didn’t require a great deal of focus.

She must have dozed again, because soon she realized the bed was empty and heard and soft voices drifting from the door.

“No, don’t worry. Brigid…” A sigh. “She’s always been sickly, since she was young. Poor lungs. It’s not the Light.”

Ryne then, she thought to herself just as she went into another coughing fit, muffling it into the pillow.

“Brigid?” came the girl’s still sometimes timid voice at her side, and she opened an eye a slit, forcing a weak smile to her face and mouthing a “hello” to her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Thancred came into her field of vision then, his face tired but his smile bright. “Can you sit up?” he asked, and Brigid nodded. After a moment they had her arranged, Brigid on her knees with her front resting against the headboard, a pillow between skin and wood, her hair moved over her shoulder.

“What are we doing?” Ryne asked, lightly sitting on the bed behind her. Thancred joined them, by the way the bed moved, and Brigid sighed.

“Her back is spasming,” Thancred explained, and her body did them a favor by twitching sharply, making her whimper softly. “Meaning we need to get it out of spasm.” She felt his knuckles dig in just below the worst of the spasm, and she groaned. “William showed me a long time ago how to do this.” He paused, and he sighed. “That was likely the day he accepted me as part of his sister’s life, I think,” he murmured, his hand resuming its work.

“‘Twas always bein’ him,” Brigid sighed in agreement. “E’en Llew wasnae always knowin’ where to be kneadin’.” Thancred moved and she nearly melted under his touch, drawing a laugh from him. “There, right there.”

Thancred continued to explain to Ryne, when it was better to use the heel of his hand over his knuckles, to move in a circular motion and then smooth outward, to go up and out and not down and out. After a bit small hands replaced his larger ones, as Ryne tried her best. Thancred meanwhile started massaging her scalp, slowly teasing away the pain in her head.

The next thing Brigid knew she was back in bed properly, on her side. Both her head and back were blessedly free of pain, and while her throat felt raw from the coughing fits her lungs felt better. At her back was a small body, breathing slow and even. She glanced up to find Thancred on her other side, a small crystal providing enough light for him to read by, his hand occasionally petting her head and running his fingers through her hair. All that was missing was their wee son playing quietly between them and Urianger curled up against Thancred’s other side, reading over his shoulder (Where _was_ Urianger, she suddenly wondered). Hilda would be somewhere, she thought, perhaps on Ryne’s other side.

It was a nice enough moment, a nice enough image, that she didn’t mind the sudden squeeze on her heart or the tiny needle prick of pain in her head. She drifted away, on the waves of a true healing sleep, content.


	17. Choosing Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 16: Lucubration (laborious work, study, thought, etc., especially at night. the result of such activity, as a learned speech or dissertation.)

Matsu sighed to himself as he passed by Arthur’s study, seeing light spill out from under the door. He should have known, when he awoke to a cold space in between himself and Araki, that Arthur would be in there. Hazards of loving the science minded, he assumed.

Just some nights… some nights he wished that wonderful, _brilliant_ mind that he loved so much would switch off for just a few hours, let all three of them get a good night’s sleep.

He gently rapped on the door before pushing it open. “Arthur?”

Arthur was settled in his book cave as expected: Hunched over a book, stacks of them on either side of him with another stack on the floor near his feet. His mint green tea cup with white dots was at his hand, contents long gone cold. His hair was stained with ink, and Matsu suspected his nose was covered with it as well. Matsu waited, knowing that sometimes it took some time for things to reach Arthur’s attention, and he didn’t want to startle him.

Indeed after a few moments he blinked and looked up at Matsu, glasses askew. “Matsu,” he murmured. “…Have I been gone too long again?”

The Raen smiled softly and crossed the room, sitting down in the one empty chair in the room. “The bed is cold,” he said quietly. “A bit, yes.”

Arthur sighed and looked back at his practice grimoire, covered in near-indecipherable notes in purple ink. “Sorry. I think I fell in the research hole again.”

Clearly telegraphing the move and moving slowly enough for Arthur to object to it, he raised his hand and rubbed Arthur’s shoulders soothingly. “You did,” he agreed. “What is it this time?”

“I thought…” he sighed again and shrugged. “I thought I’d figured out a focus for my service carbuncle. I haven’t.”

Matsu nodded and sat back in his chair. “Walk me through it. I can’t understand all of it but maybe explaining it will be enough.”

Arthur nodded slowly, turning back to his notes. “I thought opal at first,” he started, and Matsu nodded. “But finding the stone might be too hard, much less one with the coalesced aether, and then programing it correctly…” He shook his head. “I don’t think it would be worth it. So I considered malachite. If it had enough water aether, the fluidity would likely lend adaptation to the personality, which would be helpful as a service function.”

Matsu nodded. “But…”

Arthur groaned softly. “It’s a soft stone, I don’t know how stable a focus it would be. Kunzite would be better, it’s harder, and the grounding of an earth aspected stone would be advantageous too. But the _expense_! Having to get it out of Ala Mhigo, if I could find one with the right properties, it would be outrageous.”

Matsu nodded, knowing that even if Arthur did find the right stone, he’d insist on paying more than whatever the merchant was asking, intent on paying a fair price on an already expensive find. “Any other options?”

The Hyur nodded and tilted his head towards his fishing rod. “Coral. A formerly living creature would be more likely to have aether, like Urianger’s amber. It could be unpredictable, but since it spent years under water it would be more likely water aspected. It’s easily found, either washed up on the shore or fishing it up.”

“But?” he asked again, knowing there was something wrong with it to Arthur’s mind.

“But it’s a four on the Stout Hardness Scale, just like malachite.” Arthur reached for his cup, nearly brought it to his mouth, but then he paused, nose wrinkling. He put it back down and ran his hand through his hair instead.

“Amber is a two, isn’t it?” Matsu asked neutrally. “Clearly hardness isn’t that big a stumbling block, and Urianger is more a prophet than an arcanist. I’m certain if you wanted you could make a coral carbuncle.” He smiled at Arthur and held out his hand. “Come back to bed? We’ll help you start looking for suitable specimens in the morning?”

The other man blinked a moment, then smiled and accepted Matsu’s hand, stumbling only a little as he stood, back twinging uncomfortably. “Yes,” he agreed. “Perhaps we’ll find some blue ones. Blue would be nice, don’t you think?”

Matsu laughed and draped an arm over Arthur’s shoulders, the Hyur leaning into his side. “Blue would be _lovely_ ,” he agreed, and together they made their way back to their bedroom.


	18. It's Showtime, Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 17: Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not technically a crossover with FFX/X-2, but it does feature prominently. Because FFX/X-2 is my favorite FF game and if I want them in an AU I'm gonna put them there. Takes place before "Product Placement." Usernames in endnotes.

“If you’re just now joinin’ us, welcome to the stream! Today we’re lookin’ at a set ‘tis _generously_ bein’ donated to us by SpiraSongstress.” Brigid smiled up at the camera, gesturing at the blue short skirt and blue vest with a half skirt sewn to the bottom hem that was currently laid out on her stitching table. “Red darlin’ if you could be postin’ a link to her channel for me…”

Sure enough a link appeared in chat, encouraging her followers to follow SpiraSongstress.

“If you’re havin’ a few gil to be sparin’, perhaps you could be givin’ her a subscription, or be donatin’ to her charity drive! Currently she’s workin’ to fund restoration work on Home, the Al Bhed capital buildin’.” Brigid turned back to the outfit before her. “So this is datin’ back to the early years of the Seventh Astral Era, though ‘tis a replica of a set ‘tis from the mid Sixth Astral. In her note, Songstress was tellin’ me ‘tis bein’ a near identical replica of the set famed artist Lenne was wearin’ when she was bein’ fatally shot down with her lover, Shuyin.”

**DramaLounge:** Ugh enough with the history lesson  
 **DragoonsBane:** You must be new here.  
 **BirchSyurp:** Yes, GildedRose always explains the history of the garment on display.

Brigid smiled and nodded at the camera. “Lord Syurp’s bein’ right, me new friend. ‘Tis an important part of clothin’, knowin’ the history ‘hind it, the culture ‘tis comin’ from. Be tellin’ a great deal ‘bout a people by their clothin’.” She gestured at the hemline with a long knitting needle. “As you can be seein’, ‘tis a shorter skirt but nay bein’ tight, so ‘tis showin’ there’s bein’ a great deal of movement for the singer, which is only bein’ reinforced by the half skirt here.” She trailed the knitting needle along the half skirt, skimming gently over the flounces. “‘Specially in the hips. I’m hearin’ that Lenne’s dance moves in particular were puttin’ a great deal of focus in that area, ‘tisnae bein’ a surprise her costumin’ is followin’ that function.”

**LadyShiva:** Weren’t there arm pieces that went with this?

Brigid pointed her knitting needle at the camera. “Good catch there, Lady. Aye, but Songstress was tellin’ me she was feelin’ like they’d be too fragile for shippin’, and ‘tis a fair ‘sumption, some of these fabrics arenae holdin’ up too well to most things. As you can be seein’, I’m pointin’ out things with this ‘stead of touching them with me hands. You dinnae ever want to be touchin’ old garments with bare hands, the oils and skin cells can be reactin’ badly, causin’ light or dark spots in the dye, or even eatin’ through the fabric itself. We’re nay wantin’ that, as garments this old are bein’ rare.” She gestured to the multitude of lamps in the room and the covered windows. “Daylight’s nay bein’ kind either, so havin’ to be relyin’ on fake lightin’ today. Though this fabric’s lookin’ dark, ‘tis bein’ much lighter than ‘twas once bein’.”

**HoarFrost:** I thought your fair features looked quite less splendid than usual, my friend.

Brigid laughed as she pulled on a glove. “I’m workin’ with what I’m havin’, Frost me lad. ‘Tis good to be seein’ you today, was thinkin’ ‘twas bein’ one of your streamin’ days?”

**HoarFrost:** My microphone broke, everything was going in and out. The new one is shipping as we speak.

“Ah, so you’ll be givin’ out your advice some other day then, I’ll have to be joinin’ you then.” She used her gloved hand to turn a shoulder seam inside out for the camera. “As you can be seein’, the light was washin’ out the colors on the outside, but here where the seam’s bein’ protected…” She circled the darker fabric with the needle. “‘Tis bein’ a rich navy. Nay bein’ a colorfast dye either, judgin’ from the bleedin’ onto the lighter color of the flounce, but Songstress is tellin’ me ‘tis one of the features of the replica.”

And so Brigid continued, pointing out the slightly frayed threads and mended spots that spoke to a long, if slightly rough, life being used on stage and then in recreations. Spiran clothing was a recent fascination in Eorzea and Norvrandt both, and the Spirans were more than happy to share.

That the music group YRP had recently become popular outside of the streaming circles was only a coincidence, it was maintained. Certainly by SpiraSongstress and her cousin IbpaydRikku, at least.

“And ‘tis it for today!” Brigid eventually wrapped up. “Be comin’ in next day on me schedule—” And there RedRacer posted the streaming schedule in the chat “—for when I start takin’ the pattern from this and select me fabrics. Remember to be followin’ SpiraSongstress on all her media channels, be followin’ _me_ on all me channels if you’re nay ‘ready, and be doin’ somethin’ you’re lovin’ today, even if ‘tis a wee thing. Red, be findin’ me someone to raid.”

**RedRacer:** ScoringRogue is on.

Brigid blushed lightly, which caused the chat to erupt in speculation and teasing.

**CodesWithTea:** Gods please no, do not talk about my sister “collaborating” with him like that.  
 **TehHer0:** Gonna have to agree here.  
 **ThisIsScience:** Thirding oh Thaliak agnaogdnbnbh n’[oef  
 **DragoonsBane:** What’s got you so squeamish, boy?  
 **ThisIsScience:** I DO NOT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT THANK YOU  
 **ButtonBot:** Please do not use all caps! We consider this yelling and it is rude! Thank you. <3  
 **ThisIsScience:** Brigid your bot is condescending.  
 **RedRacer:** I have regrets.

Meanwhile Brigid was ignoring all that in favor of scrolling through her follow list. “Hm… nay one I’d usually be throwin’ you lot at is on… Any suggestions?”

**IronTech:** There’s a new cover artist, just got started last sennight. Name of AllaganCat. He’s quite good, strong voice.

Brigid hummed to herself. “I do like promotin’ new folk. Well folks, if IronTech is enjoyin’ it ‘tis bein’ good ‘nough for me! Now me buttons, be nice to the new singer, hm? Be showin’ them a GildedRose welcome!”

In Mor Dohna, a ginger miqo’te was tuning his harp in peace, only for his ears to shoot up and his tail puff up in shock as a sudden influx of users flooded his chat, all repeating the same supportive and welcoming message.

G’raha Tia’s follower count went from a scant fifty to nearly two hundred in that single raid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SpiraSongstress: Yuna  
> DramaLounge: Filler name, unimportant  
> LadyShiva: Ysayle  
> IbpaydRikku: Rikku, the first part is Al Bhed for "upbeat"  
> IronTech: Cid  
> ButtonBot: Bri's chat bot


	19. Discord Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 18: Panglossian (marked by the view that all is for the best in this best of possible worlds; excessively optimistic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Streamer AU!
> 
> So this was written on a Very Bad Night, and was another Working Through Shit Via Fanfic. I hope the edit has brought a bit more hope to the piece. CW for discussion of depression, mainly Thancred's Issues. No new usernames this entry.
> 
> Translation note: Braineach = "princely"

“Oi, Haurchefant?” Brigid finally spoke into the headset she wore, after having started the call half a bell ago.

“Yes my friend?” he asked, as though the call had just started and Brigid did not sound entirely far too flat.

“Your family’s nay bein’… great, aye?” she asked, her head turning to look at a picture tucked into her vanity. The room was dark so it was hard to see, but it was a picture of her own family, her four brothers and her parents, before everything had gone to so many hells. She turned her head back to center and stared up at the ceiling from where she was flat on her back on her bed.

“Sometimes,” he acknowledged after a moment. “What troubles you, Bri?”

She sighed, staring upwards. “I’m bein’ tired. I cannae… handle some things right now.”

Haurchefant hummed softly. “Thancred?” he asked, startling Brigid into a laugh.

“Oh Twelve, I’m hopin’ things arenae bein’ obvious,” she said, her laugh taking a turn for the sad near the end. “Was wantin’ to be keepin’ it off stream, the viewers arenae needin’ our personal drama.”

“No my dear,” he reassured her, using the voice that had always meant “Everything will be okay, because I said so” to her. “Only obvious to myself and Aymeric, at this point. Perhaps to Alisaie as well.”

“She’s nay threatened to stab him yet,” Brigid murmured. “I dinnae think she’s noticed.”

“What happened?”

“I just… you’re knowin’ he’s havin’ problems, aye? The guilt complex, the self-esteem problems? The likely depression he’s havin’ and bein’ in a downswing on?” Haurchefant made another hum of acknowledgment, so she continued. “I cannae handle it anymore. There’s only so long I can be dealin’ with a beautiful disaster ‘til the disaster is outweighin’ the beauty.” She sighed and blinked back tears unsuccessfully. “So I was tellin’ him that. And I’m feelin’ like a rotten person for it.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, all the appropriate sympathy in his voice. She could hear papers shuffling around in the background, the jingle of what sounded like a tiny wind chime. “Anything I can do to help? I would bring cocoa over, but…”

She laughed again, and she was glad it sounded only a little watery. “…‘Tis a wee bit late,” she agreed. “Maybe next time we’re meetin’ up you can be buyin’ me a cup. But right now…” she sighed. “I wish I wasnae dealin’ with this.”

“And so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” On the other end of the line, Haurchefant smiled as he heard Brigid huff softly at him.

“You were stealin’ that,” she accused him, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I did,” he agreed, smiling brighter. “But it made you smile, didn’t it?”

She sniffled, and it made his smile dim slightly. “Aye, did a wee bit. Thank you, Braineach.”

“You’re welcome, my friend. Meanwhile, will it help if I tell you that you did right? You cannot help him if he won’t help himself.”

“Aye, I know. Still hurtin’.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “It will hurt less, with time.”

She huffed again. “You’re bein’ terrible at advice.”

“Oh no, I’ll have to tell my three hundred subscribers they’re giving money to a fraud, how will I go on?”

They both laughed, Brigid’s a little stronger than it had been earlier. “You’re bein’ a good friend, Haurchefant,” she murmured after a moment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Take the night to rest, cry if you need to. Next you see him, he’ll remember why he calls you Spitfire.”

Brigid nodded and hummed softly, still staring up at the ceiling. “Aye, he will.”

* * *

**RedRacer:** She thinks I don’t know.  
**ScoringRogue:** Hello to you too Alisaie.  
**RedRacer:** Well? What are you going to do?  
**ScoringRogue:** I thought I’d work on my arrangement of Angels Fall and then sleep.  
**RedRacer:** You know what I mean. And I KNOW Alphinaud’s said something to you too.  
**ScoringRogue:** And Urianger.  
**RedRacer:** And you’re going to LISTEN to at least ONE of us.  
**RedRacer:** Look, here’s the information for the practice Alphinaud and I go to, SOMEONE should be able to help.  
**ScoringRogue:** Which Junius?  
**RedRacer:** You want Lucia, Livia deals more in family stuff, and she’s terrible anyway.  
**RedRacer:** Well?  
**ScoringRogue:** …I’ll aethermail them in the morning.  
**RedRacer:** Good. And we’ll keep this lovely little chat just between us.  
**ScoringRogue:** Alisaie?  
**RedRacer:** ?  
**ScoringRogue:** Thanks.  
**RedRacer:** Thank me once you’ve actually gone to an appointment.  
**ScoringRogue:** I will.


	20. Sunny Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 19: Where the Heart Is

The sun rose, bright and warm, and shone through the east facing window of the small room. The soothing light soon inched onto the just as warm and soothing bed contained within, falling onto the occupants.

The Lalafell grumbled quietly and snuggled closer to the Elezen he slept next to, but soon enough blinked sky blue eyes open. They first fell on his beloved husband, and Sammy smiled, dropping a quick kiss to the tip of the other man’s nose. It wrinkled, and Sammy laughed softly before quietly attempting to slide out of bed and start the day.

Only to find strong arms wrapped around him and tugging him back against Llewellyn’s chest.

Sammy laughed again and gently nuzzled Llewellyn’s cheek. “Lyn~” he cooed softly. “It’s morning~”

“World cold, bed warm,” Llewellyn grumbled sleepily, leaning into the nuzzle.

“Lyn…” Sammy repeated, poking him in the side. “I have to make breakfast. You want breakfast, don’t you?” Llewellyn mumbled something, but Sammy couldn’t understand it. He poked his husband again, forcing him to open a single green eye. “Yes we have to have breakfast made,” he sighed fondly. “Not only is it important to _eat_ , I bought bread last night specifically to make rarebit, and we don’t need that going to waste.” Llewellyn hummed thoughtfully, but he closed his eye again. Sammy pouted at him.

“C’n hear tha’ pout…” Llewellyn mumbled, further snuggling into bed.

“We have to babysit this afternoon,” Sammy reminded him, poking him in the nose this time. “Remember? Bri and Thancred want an afternoon to themselves and we agreed to watch the baby?”

Llewellyn hummed again. “Then we should get as much snuggling time in as possible,” he pointed out, and Sammy blinked, unable to refute the logic. Their nephew _did_ take quite a lot of energy and attention after all, especially since he had recently learned to walk. And he _talked_ , a malm a minute it seemed, and with Llewellyn not being much of a talker himself they both found it rather tiring to keep up with him sometimes.

So Sammy snuggled back against Llewellyn, earning a happy hum from the other man. “Okay,” he agreed. “Another half bell.”

“Whole bell?”

“We’ll see.”


	21. The Blooming Heather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 19: Flowers (Extra credit/make up day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half is part of the Dancing and the Dreaming AU, featuring Bix's Iolaire Argentum.

Thancred sat on a fallen log uphill from the two most important women in his life, watching them both thread flowers into long chains. Brigid and Ryne were sitting in the middle of one of the almost endless flower fields of Il Mheg, the sun glinting off their red hair, Ryne’s a more orange tone than the blood red and flame of Brigid’s.

More than once he’d wondered if that had been Ryne’s natural color, or a parting gift from Minfilia, to allow Ryne to look similar to the closest thing she’d had to a mother. To allow her to look like _both_ of theirs.

He watched as Brigid threaded the ends of the chain into each other and placed it around Ryne’s neck to rest on her shoulders like a necklace, and the girl’s cheeks went slightly pink in happiness. Brigid showed Ryne how to tie hers off and smiled as Ryne dropped her smaller circle on Brigid’s head, crowning her in Il Mheg’s finest. The pink should have clashed with her hair, but instead they seemed darker, complementing it. The gold flowers paired nicely with the yellow rose she still wore in her hair, even after all these years… no, moons. It had only been moons for her, he reminded himself. Of course she kept the yellow rose for such a short time.

Soon someone sat next to him, long fingers gently weaving with his. “Brigid and Ryne art lovely,” Urianger murmured, rubbing the back of Thancred’s hand with his thumb.

He nodded, eyes locked on the ones before him, the two laughing brightly. Brigid had pulled Ryne against her in a tight hug, the girl’s cheeks pink with joy. “They are,” he agreed, and leaned against Urianger as the taller man rested his head on the top of Thancred’s. “And somehow they’re ours.”

Urianger hummed softly in agreement. “The Twelve art kind to us.”

As the two watched, soon Brigid’s head turned in their direction, and Thancred knew down to his bones that she was grinning mischievously at them. Sure enough she turned to Ryne and said something to her, which caused the girl to look over at them as well, head tilted in consideration.

Apparently Urianger noticed, as he breathed out a soft laugh, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Our ladies doth conspire,” he whispered, and Thancred shook lightly as he held back a laugh. Ryne looked away again and started picking more flowers. “Shall we feign ignorance?”

Thancred smiled and tilted his head to look up at Urianger. “We should, let them surprise us.” Urianger laughed and pecked a kiss on the tip of Thancred’s nose before turning to watch Brigid and Ryne again.

And so the two of them sat, watching part of their small but ever growing family frolic like pixies in the flowers, content in life.

* * *

Only a universe away, Iolaire Argentum sat on the edge of a bed, smiling indulgently as his new bride darted about their honeymoon suite, her cheeks bright pink and green eyes sparkling as she rushed to see every single flower he’d had the stewards decorate the room with.

She paused for a moment, gently cupping a bouquet of white and blue flowers as she breathed in deep their scent. Iolaire had known his heart had loved flowers, speaking often of the tiny garden she’d always wanted when she was a child, full of frivolous flowers like roses, jasmine, daisies, forget-me-nots, irises. None of the things that were required for life like vegetables and most herbs, though she wouldn’t mind lavender or sage. To be able to afford the flowers themselves, the space to grow them, and the time to tend them… that would be stability to her.

She crushed petals underfoot, the floor nearly carpeted with them, as she resumed her pleased dash. Sometimes she gushed about this flower or that, telling him the story behind the plant itself or why she loved that particular one. She apparently loved irises because they came early in the year and were often the only spot of color in the area, and she loved jasmine because they found ways to grow even in places it seemed they shouldn’t thrive, like a fencepost. Iolaire drank it all in, loving how her voice rolled with her words and how beautiful she was. Nearly more beautiful than when they’d stood before their families and swore themselves to each other in front of the Fury, he thought, but only just nearly.

Her laugh was like bells as she finally stopped, dropping to the floor on her knees, any stains hidden in the purple of her dress. She rested her head on his knee, looking up at him adoringly. “Thank you,” she breathed, eyes still bright and full of stars. “‘Tis bein’ more than I could be imaginin’.”

Iolaire laughed as well and took her hands in his. “All that you deserve and more,” he promised, tugging gently on them to get her to stand. She did and slid neatly in between his legs. He drew her closer, head tilting up just a little to kiss her softly. “Shall we enjoy the bed, or would you like to dart about for another twenty minutes?” he teased, brushing his nose against hers.

She laughed softly, resting her forehead against his. “Are there bein’ flowers in the bed?” she asked, teasing back. “Otherwise ‘tis bein’ a hard question to be answerin’.”

Iolaire hummed and fell back onto the bed, pulling her down on top of him. “I think we can find a few,” he murmured before rolling them both, putting Brigid on her back. He drank in her laugh with a kiss, content in life.


	22. Alleged Faults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 21: Foible

“You have,” Arthur started, gesturing with his glass to Shida, “a _terrible_ habit of appearing at the worst possible times.”

The wandering minstrel only smiled and adjusted the tuning of his harp. “Do I?” he asked, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You _do_ ,” Arthur emphasized, squinting at him. “And I’m not convinced you didn’t follow us to the First either. A ‘Minstreling Wanderer,’ a likely story. And every bit as exaggerated as you always do.”

Shida breathed a laugh and turned his focus on Arthur. “For the enjoyment of others, I assure you.” His eyes twinkled behind his goggles and he smirked. “Did you encounter a giant green chicken?” he teased, and Arthur glared at him.

“ _No_ , thank the _bloody Twelve_ ,” he nearly spat. “Nor did Líle wander off… well, not worse than usual, nor did you write a song about my sister again.” He pointed at Shida, wagging it slightly. “And don’t think I don’t know that ‘prophecy’ you made up was about my _nephew_ , it’s _quite_ obvious.”

The minstrel in question only laughed again and returned to his harp. “Is it? I thought it was only about how a Warrior of Light would bring peace between Ishgardian and Dravanian.”

“By bringing forth a child that appeared to be a mix of both!” Arthur all but yelled, mindful that they were still in public.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He strummed the harp, letting the chord ring out through the air. “But do you _truly_ mind it? All these things you consider my faults, minor though they are?”

Arthur sat back and continued to glare at him, even as he drank from his glass. “You _are_ the least bad of the minstrels,” he allowed. “Though you’re still to blame for the giant green chicken incident.”

“Yes yes, I know. I put the thought into the world and it was made manifest, so you’ve said many times before. Shall I put the thought of a giant _purple_ chicken into the world instead?”

The arcanist paused, considering. “A small purple chicken,” he allowed, and Shida smirked, bowing.

“Please look forward to it.”

“I’d really rather not.”


	23. Bickering is a Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 22: Argy-bargy (British slang for an argument)
> 
> I swear this is an affectionate argument.

“We’re out of milk,” Araki mumbled as he blearily stumbled his way to the table, a bowl of milk-less cereal in his hand. He dropped down heavily in his seat and scratched the back of his neck.

Arthur didn’t even look up from the journal he was reading. “It was your turn to go to market,” he replied mildly, taking a sip of his tea.

Matsu sighed and rubbed his face. Twelve it was too early for this…

Araki looked up and glared at Arthur. “Then you should have put it on the list,” he retorted, ignoring his spoon and eating his cereal with his bare hands.

“I _did_ ,” Arthur grumbled. “Right under butter, which you seemed to have no trouble with.” He sipped his tea again, glancing at Araki over the journal.

“Then you should have written it _clearly_ ,” came the rejoinder, alongside an annoying crunch that made Arthur flinch, albeit barely. “It’s four letters, Artie, it can’t be hard.”

“Then it shouldn’t be hard for you to _read_ , should it?” Arthur replied, somehow keeping his voice even. “Especially since your handwriting is even worse than mine.”

“ _I_ haven’t summoned mandragoras with my handwriting.” Another crunch, and Arthur shot up from his seat, journal and tea both forgotten, and slammed his hands on the table.

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who summoned it, thank you very much!” he snapped, pulling the cereal away from Araki. “And will you stop _crunching_?!”

Araki grinned up at Arthur, showing his teeth. “Why? Would you like me to do something _else_ with my mouth?” he drawled, eyes twinkling. Arthur inhaled—

“ _Not_ at the breakfast table you two,” Matsu finally interjected, glaring at them both. “We agreed. It is _too_ early in the morning for this thing you two call flirting and especially too early for me to watch the two of you snog.”

Araki and Arthur blinked at each other for a few moments, then at Matsu. Finally Arthur sighed and sat back down, retrieving his journal. Araki stole back his cereal and resumed eating, much quieter.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Araki finally agreed.

“Indeed.”

“Besides,” Matsu added, sipping from his own cup. “I bought more milk. Niamh knocked it off the table.” Arthur shot a glare at his Topaz carbuncle, who returned it with an innocent expression. “I’ll get more this afternoon.”

“Fine,” Arthur grumbled.

“See, not my fault,” Araki muttered.

“No starting up again!”


	24. Anniversary Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 23: Shuffle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again featuring Bix's Iolaire and the For the Dancing and the Dreaming AU.

Brigid loved her husband dearly, she did. She didn’t know if she could do otherwise if she tried, to tell the truth. Matsu had once commented that they seemed like they would forever be in the honeymoon state, the way they doted on each other. Connor had grumbled that they even did the cliché couple thing of never going to bed mad at each other. It was _gross_ , and he never wanted to be that syrupy over someone.

Which was why Brigid was very confused when Iolaire had been acting… _oddly_ all day. He’d been quieter than usual, almost _nervous_. At one point she thought she’d caught him worrying at his first wife’s wedding ring under his shirt, or at the ring she’d slid onto his hand. She knew, however, not to pry. He could be a stubborn thing at times after all, and picking at whatever was going on would only upset him. He would come to her if he needed her when he was ready. At least he didn’t seem _upset_ already, just… _off_. As though he expected everything to be three ilms to the left. It was probably nothing, really.

She still spent most of the day twisting at her fingers and her own wedding ring nervously, though. Even trying to busy said fingers with knitting didn’t last very long.

Lunch was a disappointingly quick affair that day, the two of them only crossing paths long enough to collect their food and for him to disappear into his study after a quick and yet spine tingling kiss. She was distracted enough by that for him to make his getaway, and when her brain came back from its extended visit to her toes she pouted, quite annoyed at the whole matter.

She’d finally resigned herself to never knowing what had her husband in such a state when they met for dinner, only to find him standing in front of the table in his best clothes. Her eyes widened as he smiled and stepped to the side, revealing the table itself.

Candles had been lit, casting the table in a soft glow. Her favorite foods, all simple Limsan fare, were placed upon it as if they were the extravagant cuts of meat and rare vegetables that the high houses, major and minor, favored. Angler stew, hearty bread and grape jam, green beans with a lemon sauce, and strong tea were plated upon the best porcelain dishes the Orraux family possessed. She covered her mouth in shock, looking up at Iolaire in a near daze as he fell into place at her side, a smile on his face.

He gently placed a bouquet of flowers into her hands (had he been hiding them behind his back?). She had enough of her wits to see they were the same flowers he’d filled their room with the night they were wed, and she nearly dropped them at the realization. He laughed softly and kissed her forehead before taking an arm in his. “Had you forgotten?” he asked quietly, leading her to the table.

“Nay ever bein’ good at keepin’ track of the days,” she murmured before bringing the flowers to her nose for a deep inhale of the fragrance. He pulled out her chair for her and stood at her side as she sat, placing the bouquet in the vase at the center of the table.

“Forgive me my distance today,” he apologized, reaching out for her hand. She took it instantly, threading her fingers with his. “Everything needed to be perfect.” He lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then rested his forehead against them. “Happy first anniversary, my heart.”

Her heart melted into her feet, and she cooed softly in response. “Happy first anniversary, me pulse,” she returned, tears of happiness prickling at the corners of her eyes. Her free hand gently cupped his cheek, thumb gently brushing under an eye. “Just havin’ you is makin’ it perfect.”

He chuckled and released her hand to take his own seat. “So I should send the orange souffle and chocolate pots de creme back to the kitchen then?” he teased, smile growing wider at the utterly _offended_ expression on her face at the very suggestion.

“Dinnae you _dare_!”


	25. Too Quiet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 24: Beam

The Rising Stones was quiet. Quiet as a library, or a museum. Which was impressive, given that a toddler was a resident, and toddlers were _not_ known for being quiet. In fact, most toddlers (including the toddler in question) were often as loud as every pot and pan in a kitchen being tossed across the room.

Thancred quickly realized this fact, his head popping up in surprise. Brigid made a disappointed noise as she was dislodged from his shoulder as he did, eyes fluttering open. “‘Tis wrong?” she murmured, a hand sliding over his chest to rest on his other shoulder.

“Have you noticed how quiet it is suddenly?” he asked, eyes flicking back and forth, ears straining. His hand still stroked up and down Brigid’s back, the woman relaxing under his touch.

“Aye, ‘tis nice,” she sighed, and lightly pressed on Thancred’s chest. “Was nappin’, ‘tis nice and warm t’day, lay back down, hm?”

He remained upright, an eyebrow raised. “Where’s Cred?” he asked suspiciously, and Brigid huffed.

“He’s bein’ with Urianger, he was promisin’ the lad story time. ‘Member? Nay anythin’ to be worryin’ ‘bout…”

Thancred hummed, hesitating only a moment before sliding out from under Brigid, pulling a disappointed noise from her throat. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to look back on her. “I’m going to go check on them,” he told her, and smiled slightly as she forced herself up from the couch they’d been dozing on, rubbing her back on the way up.

“Aye, fine,” she murmured, taking her place at his side. “They’re bein’ fine, you’re knowin’.”

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, hand settling on her hip. “I know, but I doubt Urianger can keep up with Cred this long, and I would feel better if I saw for certain.” Brigid hummed and nodded, and they started on their way to the Scions’ library, where they knew Urianger usually hid away on his visits to the Stones.

Sure enough they found both Elezen scholar and Auri toddler in said library. Urianger’s hood was down — Thancred William often _insisted_ on pulling off Urianger’s goggles and the hood down along with it, and Urianger had stopped fighting with him over it moons ago — and Thancred William was tucked up in Urianger’s lap, a hand resting on the toddler’s back.

The two paused as they realized both of them were asleep, a ray of sunlight streaming into the room and falling on them both. Urianger’s chest rose and sank slowly, Thancred William rising and sinking as well. He had a hand clenched in Urianger’s robes, face relaxed as he slept. Thancred felt a squeeze around his heart, and judging from the soft coo coming from Brigid, her own heart was a puddle.

“Let’s be leavin’ them be,” she murmured, lightly tugging on his sleeve. “Be goin’ back to our own nap.”

Thancred chuckled softly and nodded, steering them both out of the library and back down the hall. “For once he can’t complain that he put someone to sleep,” he joked, and laughed again as Brigid huffed and rolled her eyes fondly.

“Bein’ mean. Maybe I willnae be nappin’ with you after all.”

His free hand went to his chest, as though physically struck, and he gasped, widening his eyes comically. “What a _wound_ my Spitfire has delivered me, straight to my heart!”

Brigid laughed and leaned back into him as they returned to the couch, ready to relax into it again. “You’re bein’ a daft thing,” she murmured as they laid back down, Thancred on his back and Brigid on his chest.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling into it. “Your daft thing,” he replied quietly.


	26. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 25: Wish

Thancred dreamed, sometimes. Of a woman with blood red hair that set his heart on fire. Of a toddler, now surely a young boy, and he would wonder if the lad remembered him, the man the child had declared “da” just as he was learning to speak. A title he had never deserved, but had also tried so very hard to live up to.

Every now and then Thancred dreamed of a hooded scholar, of pulling down that hood and running his fingers along his jawline. Of drawing down a clever mouth onto his own. Those dreams he woke from feeling vaguely guilty, not for any perceived dishonesty to Brigid of course, but for thinking such about a friend who might not even consider him in the same way, much less return said feelings.

Hells, Thancred wasn’t even sure what said feelings even _were_ sometimes.

Then he would dream of all of them together. The woman, himself, the now-young boy between them holding their hands, then the scholar on his other side. Sometimes the scholar would take the woman’s other hand, but it was always hesitant, as though he wasn’t certain he should. These dreams would leave him heartsore, almost a vision of the future that, being stuck on the First as he was, he was certain he would unlikely ever have.

They seemed happy, in those dreams. A happiness he never thought he deserved and yet had been gifted anyway. Laughing and enjoying each others’ company. The three of them enticing the scholar to visit more often, to see them more often. He was such a rare sight, it was always nice to see him.

Thancred wondered if the young boy still tried to pull the scholar’s goggles and hood off and down, or if the scholar had simply given up wearing them around him now. Two years gone, two years lost.

Still, he had his dreams. If he couldn’t have them in the waking world, sleep was there to comfort him.


	27. It's Bread. It's Gonna Forgive You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 26: When Pigs Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I wrote this I learned that a bakery exists called [When Pigs Fly](https://sendbread.com/) so that's what happened. The title is a quote from [The Bread Monk, Father Dominic Garramone](https://www.breadmonk.com/index.html). He makes good baking videos and books. Recommended.
> 
> Translation note: Fuil Réalta = Blood Star

Bread was just four ingredients. Flour, water, yeast, and salt. It was easy. Something every beginner should know how to make. Something every _person_ should know. Even _Arthur_ knew the theory, even if he somehow ended up making a mess of slimy dough.

That was how Alisaie had ended up in the kitchen with Brigid, learning how to do something that _children_ already knew.

“Ah, ‘tisnae matterin’ _when_ you’re learnin’, so long as you _are_ learnin’,” Brigid said kindly, with a real smile. She patted the floured table next to Alisaie’s hand, just as she would for Arthur, and returned to setting out ingredients. “So the most important thing to be knowin’ ‘bout with bakin’ is ‘tis just ‘nother kind of science. A tiny bit of art in some things, mostly in decoratin’, but ‘tis by and large bein’ science.”

“Then why is Arthur so bad at it?” Alisaie grumbled, poking at the small container of yeast.

“Arthur is bein’ terrible at most things in the kitchen, ‘tis just bein’ his lot. You though, you’ll be handlin’ this well I’m thinkin’.” She set half the ingredients in front of Alisaie. “And ‘sides, most of bread bakin’ is doin’ other things while waitin’ for it to rise. Now, be mixin’ the yeast and salt with the warm water, and we’ll be makin’ sure ‘tis workin’.”

Alisaie did so, narrowing her eyes at the mixed ingredients. “It feels too easy.”

Brigid hummed, mixing her own ingredients. “Aye, ‘tis a bit. If the yeast are bein’ dead we’re needin’ to get more, and if we’re makin’ a fancier bread, like an egg-based or milk-based one, ‘tis a mess to be puttin’ together. But we’re nay makin’ Hingan milk bread today so ‘tis easy ‘nough.”

Alisaie slanted a look in Brigid’s direction that seemed to mean “sounds fake but okay,” then returned her eyes to the salt-yeast-water mixture. She got another next-to-hand hand pat for her trouble, Brigid laughing fondly.

Only a few minutes passed before bubbles started to form on the surface of both containers, Brigid nodding. “Aye, ‘tis what we’re lookin’ for. Now be addin’ the flour on top of the water slowly, and mix.”

She watched the older woman out the corner of her eyes, matching what she did. The two stirred in unison, forming a shaggy dough. Brigid scattered flour from another bowl onto the counter and turned her dough out. “Next we’re kneading it for a few minutes, ‘til it’s formin’ a smooth ball.” Alisaie did the same, still watching intently. “You dinnae need to be worryin’ quite so much, Fuil Réalta,” she murmured fondly, using that nickname she’d given Alisaie years ago. “‘Tis bread, ‘tis goin’ to be forgivin’ you.”

She bit back the snap she wanted to make about Arthur, but stopped putting quite so much force behind her kneading. “I shouldn’t be this frustrated,” she grumbled. “Nothing’s gone wrong yet.”

“You’re bein’ ‘lowed to be feelin’ your feelin’s, nay bein’ right or wrong. ‘Tis what you’re doin’ with those feelin’s that are bein’ the issue,” Brigid reassured her, continuing her own kneading. “And so far you’re takin’ them out on the bread, which is bein’ healthy ‘nough. And ‘tis alreet to not be knowin’ things, even if you’re thinkin’ they’re bein’ basic things.” She laughed and shook her head. “I can barely be doin’ math.”

Alisaie stared up at her, eyes wide in shock. She looked back down at the breads they were making, then back up at Brigid. “But measuring the ingredients… and your sewing!”

Brigid shrugged with a smile. “Oh things I can be holdin’, or are havin’ measurements, they’re bein’ fine. But the sorts of math your brother or me own are doin’? The sorts you’re doin’? Might as well be askin’ Cid to be doin’ magic, askin’ me to be doin’ math like that. Or really any math bein’ higher than basic sums. But ‘tis alreet I cannae be doin’ that, nay bein’ that much of a problem. Maybe someday I can be learnin’ when I’m needin’ it.” She shaped the dough into a sphere and took the bottle of oil in hand. “Be pourin’ some oil into your bowl and start swirlin’ it,” she instructed as she did so. She handed the bottle to Alisaie, who did the same. “Be puttin’ the dough in the bowl and be coverin’ it with the towel.”

“And now we wait?” she asked, looking up at Brigid again, blinking as she took in the massive stripe of white in her sister’s hair. “Bri?”

Brigid glanced up at her hair, catching sight of the color, and sighed. “Nay ever failin’,” she grumbled as she wiped her hands on a third towel. “Nay touchin’ anythin’ but the food and I’m endin’ up with flour in me hair.” She shrugged at Alisaie. “Be gettin’ used to it darlin’. But aye, ‘tis time to wait. We’ll be checkin’ in a bell, see how ‘tis goin’. If ‘tis risin’, we’ll be punchin’ it down, puttin’ it in the pan, and be lettin’ it rise ‘gain ‘fore we bake it.”

“Seems like an all day affair,” Alisaie commented as she wiped her own hands, and Brigid laughed softly.

“Aye, ‘tis a wee bit. But most of it ‘tis bein’ spent waitin’, so ‘tisnae bein’ so bad. Was thinkin’ of workin’ on some knittin’ while listenin’ to the orchestrion, are you wantin’ to join me or are you wantin’ somethin’ more active to be doin’?”

Alisaie took a moment to consider that. True she was the more active of the twins, but even she enjoyed quiet moments every now and then. She smiled and nodded up at Brigid. “I would like that.”


	28. Once Upon a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 27: Song (Free/Extra Credit Day)

It should come as no surprise that song played an important part in the O’Donnells’ lives, at least not to the people who were paying attention. They all hummed softly to themselves when engrossed in a task, tapped tunes out as they thought, sang snatches of songs when they thought no one could hear them.

Their mother had been a bard before she’d met their father, after all, and she had made a point of passing down her love of music to her children. Lullabies written specially for each one, singing as often as she spoke, and encouraging them to write their own songs. Brigid and Arthur had taken to it the most, though Arthur was more inclined to write than to sing, but all five of them knew the basics.

Brigid had taken to song most, the one who was most likely to take the stage in pubs and sing for her supper, to stroke a frighten child’s hair while singing to soothe them, to follow in her mother’s footsteps and write a lullaby for her own child. She would hum as she thought, sing softly under her breath when she thought no one was around. If she was awake and silent, it was said, then something was very wrong.

She would dance sometimes when she was alone, graceful steps and sweeping arms, when singing wasn’t enough. Bare feet slid easily on the floor as she spun, counting the beat of her words. It was almost a moving meditation for her, focused more inward than she often was, and that was how Thancred was able to sneak up behind a fellow rogue and take her hands in his.

Brigid glanced over her shoulder, smiling mischievously at him, before changing her tune to a waltz, leading him on a short chase to claim the lead. It was a tune he was familiar with, it seemed, because his voice joined hers with the correct words. So they danced, his voice blending with hers, her steps following his, skirts brushing over both their feet as they moved.

After a few songs they slowly came to a halt, one of Thancred’s hands resting on the small of her back, his other holding hers gently. They didn’t speak to each other, only smiled as Thancred’s lips came down upon hers, the two of them smiling into their kiss. On a different day it would be a prelude to a different dance, a different song, but for now they seemed content to sway in place, breathing each other in.


	29. Healer's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 28: Irenic (aiming or aimed at peace; a part of Christian theology concerned with reconciling different denominations and sects)

Llewellyn was a healer. A born one, judging from what his mother had told him as he grew. His first words were to ask someone to intercede in a starfish’s pain, and he hadn’t changed since that day. He simply hated to see anyone in pain, especially if it was pain he could do something about.

It went without saying, then, that Llewellyn disliked _causing_ pain, even in the course of healing. It certainly meant he _very much_ disliked causing pain in general. That Hydaelyn decided a near-pacifist would be one of her Warriors of Light was a cruel irony that didn’t merit looking at too long, in his opinion. She had already chosen Brigid, after all, and it was well known how blood thirsty his beloved little flame was.

Perhaps that had been the reason, he mused occasionally, they needed his calm, peaceful attitude as well as his healing to augment the rest of the family’s more forceful, violent tendencies. Perhaps that was why his beloved Sammy, the lamb with the heart of a ram in his chest, was also a Warrior of Light. The balance was needed, if only to prevent Brigid from causing diplomatic incidents.

Still, he hated that maintaining this balance, healing those he called his family, meant that he would be called upon to fight. To cause people pain, even if they were their enemies and threatening to cause his family pain. He tried to reconcile it in his mind, that they saved so many more than they fought and killed, but his healer’s soul railed against the idea. It didn’t matter that he used the very stone itself to attack instead of blades or aether as the rest of the family did, the disconnect wasn’t enough. Even serving as his sister’s midwife and bringing his nephew into the world was only a temporary balm to a troubled soul.

He knew, in the end, that he would have to live with his actions, have to find meaning enough to allow him to do so. Perhaps that meaning would be in the faces of those he protected, in the smiles first of his sister and brothers, then in the wide, innocent eyes of his nephew. Perhaps that meaning would be in the night sky of Norvrandt, a whole world saved in part because of him. Perhaps that meaning would be his own husband, who had found the confidence he already had simply because Llewellyn had held out a kind hand with an offer to be a firm foundation and a soft place to land.

Life itself would be enough.


	30. Crawling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 29: Paternal

A baby rather clashed with the “wild-man rogue” aesthetic Thancred had inadvertently cultivated, but as time had passed since his first meeting with Thancred William he had found it near impossible to _not_ hold the child every chance he got. The child’s weight felt right and proper in his arms, resting against his chest, or spread along his back as Brigid taught him how to wear her sling. As though somehow he was meant to shoulder this weight with her. And he was _still_ floored by the very idea a child had been named after him, thank you very much. Still floored by the way Brigid’s eyes looked up at him from her child’s face.

Though it strained his back somewhat, Thancred had taken to doing some of his work on the floor, paperwork done on hard books perched on crossed legs, so that he could be in closer reach to wee Thancred William. Easier to keep an eye on him when Brigid had to leave him in Thancred’s care, he claimed. Easier to play with him when the child tired of the blocks and other soft toys he had been gifted, was the truth. Spending time with the baby soothed his heart, he had found but would never admit.

So it was that he’d been left with Thancred William one day — and they very much needed to give that child a nickname of some kind that was much shorter — the child perched on a blanket with his stuffed toys and stackable blocks. Brigid had some sort of meeting with Aymeric, she’d said, and knowing that nothing would get done the moment Aymeric laid eyes on his nephew, Thancred had offered to watch Thancred the younger — no that wouldn’t work — for the duration. Brigid had looked far more relieved than he expected and instantly agreed, darting out the door the moment the two Thancreds were settled.

Well, getting time that wasn’t focused on Thancred William was probably rare and no one could fairly begrudge her that.

And so they sat, in companionable silence, save Thancred William’s occasional babbling. Thancred the elder — no not that either — would respond as though they were having a proper conversation, something he had fallen into easily and without prompting (like Alphinaud had needed) as though it was as natural as breathing. He sat a decent distance away from the child, not so far that it was irresponsible but far enough that the child couldn’t reach out for his paperwork or pen. He had developed a fondness for _grabbing_ things, which was apparently something to celebrate even as it was somewhat annoying. He would glance up every now and then to ensure Thancred William wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t.

It was one of those times, as he was narrating what he was doing for the child, that he looked up to find Thancred William halfway between him and the blanket, giggling as he was propped up on hands and knees. Thancred stared at him in confusion for a moment, then smiled softly. “Worked out crawling, have you?” he asked, as though he expected an intelligible response.

“Ta!”

He laughed and scooted away, recreating the original space between them. “Come after me then,” he challenged fondly, setting his work to the side. Thancred William frowned, nose scrunching under scales, tail swaying behind him, and he took a moment before he pushed himself forward, little hands and knees moving quickly to catch up with his guardian.

He plopped himself down at Thancred’s leg and swung his arms down to rest on the older man’s knee. “Ta!”

He laughed and reached out to ruffle the baby’s hair. “So you did.” And he moved again, putting more space between them. Thancred William huffed and chased after him again. Thancred moved again, and again, multiple times to encourage the younger one to follow him, to continue practicing this skill, until he heard a soft laugh at the door. It drew both their eyes, and a delighted squeal from Thancred William, finding Brigid standing and watching them.

“Look at me lads,” she murmured fondly, before dropping to her own knees just inside the room. “Come to Mum,” she continued, and laughed brightly as Thancred William all but raced over to her.

“And so I have been abandoned,” Thancred teased, smiling as Brigid swept Thancred William up in her arms. “At least I cannot fault his tastes.”

Brigid laughed and crossed the room to settle down next to Thancred, Thancred William happily cuddled up against her chest. “Oh I’ll be ‘bandoned the moment he’s seein’ Liam tonight,” she replied airily. “Or Lord Edmont, bein’ so fond of his grandfather after all.” She leaned against Thancred, grinning up at him. “He’s bein’ fond of you too,” she added, grin growing wider as Thancred cleared his throat, looking away from them.

“Just a familiar face, that’s all,” he grumbled, and Brigid laughed again, bouncing her son lightly.

“So you’re sayin’,” she agreed easily, knowing not to push. “So, tell me ‘bout all the wonderful things you were sharin’ with each other you couldnae be sayin’ ‘round me.”

It was easy as breathing, this feeling of family. Fleeting though it would be, he knew. As though Brigid would want him acting as a parent. As though Thancred William would ever see him as anything more than an uncle. As though he was worthy of it.


	31. The Lancer Walked into the Carpenters' Guild...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 30: Splinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look it was either this or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jokes okay.

Araki stared Sanson down for a long moment. To his credit the lancer stared back and didn’t fidget. The Au Ra sighed and leaned over the saw horse that served as his makeshift desk, fingers loosely laced together. “You seriously want _me_ to make this?” he asked, nodding down at the drawing between them.

Sanson nodded, his back stiff and straight. “You come highly recommended,” he replied, as though he had rehearsed his words. Hm, reminded him of Arthur, now that he thought about it.

So he smiled and laughed a little. “By who?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Who recommended me over the Timbermaster?”

The lancer cleared his throat. “Captain Ryuzaki, Captain and Lieutenant O’Donnell of the Adders, and Captain O’Donnell of the Maelstrom.” His voice trailed off near the end, as he realized what he was saying. Araki laughed again, but kindly.

“My brother, my sister and brother in law, and my own boyfriend. All of whom have worked with you or Guydelot in some capacity.” Araki sighed fondly, his hands coming up to rest behind his head, and he leaned back on the half finished crate which served as his seat. “Such glowing praise having connections can lead to,” he teased, but only a little as he noticed Sanson’s cheeks growing pink. “You realize bows are more complicated than a lance?” he asked, going all business. “I don’t just turn the wood on the lathe and stick a bit of pointy metal on top.”

Sanson nodded, eyes cast to the ground. “I’m willing to wait, and pay the appropriate coin.”

Araki hummed softly, looking the man up and down. “This is clearly not going to be your personal weapon,” he mused. “‘Tsu would have told me if the Lancers’ Guild was losing someone to the Archers’. And zelkova? Not a beginner’s bow.” As the pink on Sanson’s cheeks grew darker into a proper red, Araki’s smile grew wider. “ _Oh_ ~” he drawled, sitting upright again. “You’re finally going to ask Guydelot out aren’t you~?”

The Hyur looked up sharply, eyes going wide, and he sputtered anxiously. “No such thing!” he finally got out, face red as a rolanberry. “It’s only a gift in appreciation of all the work he’s done!”

“Mm… hmm…” He picked up the drawing, turning it this way and that. “A zelkova longbow with peacock fletched arrows… and of course you want the serge dyed turquoise… sure, this is a gift of ‘appreciation’.” He put the paper back down. “Instead of something simple, such as a bottle of wine?”

Sanson muttered something that even Araki’s horns had trouble picking up. Still, he waited, knowing that would be the better thing to do. “He needs a new one,” Sanson finally murmured. “His current bow is going to split apart in his hands one of these days.”

The Au Ra sighed, shaking his head. Well, it had taken time for he and Arthur to sort themselves out, the two of them would do the same in their own time. And who knew, maybe the bow would be enough to make the bard sing in a wholly different matter. “It’ll be more than from the shops,” he warned. “I’ll have to ask Bri for the serge and she’ll want some coin for her own troubles. I’ll accept installments of course.”

The lancer’s eyes widened again, this time in delight, though he quickly reigned it back in. “Of course! Custom work should be well recompensed!”

Araki nodded. “Ten thousand down payment, either today or tomorrow,” he started, setting out his terms. “Fifty thousand after that, payable in installments if you choose, but must be paid in full upon completion before I’ll relinquish the product. You’re welcome to inspect it at any point.”

Sanson nodded as Araki spoke, already reaching for his gil purse. “I have ten thousand now,” he offered, and the other grinned, getting to his feet.

“Then it’s a deal,” he said, clasping Sanson’s hand. “I’ll get started on it next sennight.”

Sanson tilted his head in confusion. “Next sennight?” he asked.

Araki jerked the thumb of his free hand in the direction of a large rat, clearly a minion from its movements. “Have to take a rat to some Kojin.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end, my dears. Another year of heartbreak, crack, AUs aplenty, and enough cotton candy fluff to stock a carnival for months. A massive thank you to all who supported me through this, and a special thanks to the [Book Club](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic), because I'm honestly not sure I could have done it this year without their special brand of zany enabling (they are, in fact, directly responsible for the Thancred/Bri/Urianger triad happening).
> 
> I shall return! ...eventually, because NaNoWriMo exists.


End file.
